


La Bella Famiglia

by GingerKI



Series: The Slayer's Legacy [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Family, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:17:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerKI/pseuds/GingerKI
Summary: A follow up to "Class Protector" that's set roughly two years later beginning Easter Weekend 2021. A glimpse into family life for Spike and Buffy, plus reconnecting with old (ahem) friends?The story potentially references anything through the end of NFA.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Series: The Slayer's Legacy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541893
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	1. The Bits

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. In short, I do not own anything Joss would want and he owns a lot of stuff I do. I'm doing this solely to amuse myself and, maybe on a good day, entertain others. I leave that to them to decide.
> 
> Not beta'd so any errors, either in judgment or grammar, are mine and mine alone.

**April 2021**

**London**

_Let yourself in when you get here_

_See you soon love_

Buffy read the text then turned to look out the taxi window as Central London rolled by. She did not make a habit of using her key to enter her sister’s home in Sutton, a quiet, leafy community in the southern reaches of Metropolitan London. After those long-ago days of communal living on the Hellmouth, she had come to appreciate and respect boundaries. Spike knew it too because he knew her so well after his thorough two-decade study that had only intensified the last two years with their cohabitation, his text undoubtedly intended to avoid waking Arabella Joyce, her six-month-old niece.

It was indeed late. There had been a catered dinner followed by a Q&A at Council headquarters and she had stayed on to speak to every single young woman who approached her afterwards. That was the whole point, after all, of the memoir she had spent over a year writing: practical guidance on how to live in the world for young women called as slayers, even if that guidance was in the form of the big fat cautionary tale so much of her life had been. Because, slaying aside, the hardest thing in the world is to live in it.

Maybe some of them, hopefully a lot of them, would avoid making living in it any harder than it had to be… or maybe people just had to learn their own lessons the hard way. Either way, at least she had taken charge of her own narrative before the profoundly unhelpful and tragicomically inaccurate myths of “Saint Buffy” and “Super Buffy” were able to take hold completely. Lord knows, she was neither. What she was, when all was said and done, was a survivor. If a 40-year-old vampire slayer was not the very definition of survivor then she didn’t know what was.

Writing the memoir had been cathartic. After starting it in a borrowed home, she had found it therapeutic to finish it her own home on California’s Central Coast, the one she shared with a key player in the narrative. In her cozy and bright office, the brightest room in the house at his insistence because he said that was where she would shine, she had spent long days writing. In the evenings – when not pressed into service by the local slayers who wouldn’t involve them unless the situation was particularly dire or weird – he would come in to read what she had written that day.

Even the parts that had been as difficult for him to read as they had been for her to write, recounting (sans vivid detail) the darkest moments that had passed between them. He had done so unemotionally, offering editorial advice then leaving her to tidy up and prepare for the next day. She had found him sitting in their darkened living room, sipping a post-evening-meal whisky. She had taken his glass from him and set it aside then wordlessly tugged him to his feet to undress him. They had made love, foreheads touching and bodies entwined, rocking slowly and tenderly in the oversized armchair she’d obsessed over when they were decorating the room.

_“It’s over and done with. We haven’t been them in forever,” _she had panted against vampire skin temporarily warmed by the borrowed heat of her body and blood he’d gently pulled from her to make her come harder.

The landscape was changing, transitioning from bustling and commercial to quiet and residential. Buffy sighed in contentment. It would be nice to spend Easter Weekend in the home Dawn and Danny had purchased last year while expecting their first child. Buffy hadn’t been surprised when Dawn called to tell her she was pregnant just a few weeks after the wedding. Acutely aware that their mother had only lived a decade past the age she was on her wedding day, she had been eager to get on with family life. Arabella Joyce Summers-Ryan had arrived on the autumnal equinox.

With Danny stuck in Frankfurt an extra night on a work trip, Spike had driven down from the apartment in South Kensington right after sunset to keep Dawn and the baby company while Buffy attended the Council event. He had no doubt enjoyed having his Bit and Bitty Bit to himself for a few hours. He had greeted AJ (the nickname her parents had bestowed upon her soon after her arrival) with a mixture of fascination and affection upon meeting her in person for the first time at Christmas.

_“And what new and interesting ways will you find to torment me? S’okay, Bitty Bit, it’s family tradition.”_

Buffy’s heart swelled at the memory, his voice so sweet and wry in its trademark Spike-ness. She understood the cliché that you could love someone so much it hurt, this undead guy whose opening line to a teenage girl had been his intention to kill her. But she had never been _just a girl _to him and he’d never quite managed to get the job done. While each had hurt the other plenty, inflicted wounds both visible and not, they had both failed in their one job as mortal enemies. Repeatedly. Spectacularly. The only death either had managed to visit upon the other was _la petite mort._ Repeatedly. Spectacularly. Because as much as they didn’t make a bit of sense they made all the sense in the world.

The level of their domestic contentment had initially surprised them both. Life was hardly perfect because life in this dimension wasn’t perfect for anyone. But daily life under the same roof had turned out to be absurdly easy. Pondering their arduous journey from the alley behind the Bronze as she’d written her memoir, she had come to realize that they really shouldn’t have been surprised. There had been an _ease_ between them even as enemies, as bizarre as that sounded.

The rhythm of their banter had been established in their first fight. He’d fallen in step beside her after they’d traded a single uneasy look when they made the truce to stop the Acathla. He’d come to her when he was starving and desperate. And she’d taken him in. She hadn’t even bothered to revoke his invitation to the house on Revello until he’d gone all creepy stalker on her. Not that the ban had lasted long. Once lifted, he’d continued to be a fixture in it even after she was gone, ostensibly for good, and would be for as long as the house stood – a claim no other intimate partner of the era could make. And how many times had some disinterested third party referred to him as her _boyfriend_ long before he had any legitimate claim to that title?

In a conversation with Giles early in her writing process, he had admitted to worrying about something developing between her and Spike from the moment he witnessed their interactions in his own home after the vampire had escaped the Initiative. The incessant bickering and teasing were hard to ignore; they just couldn’t leave one another alone in a way that suggested there was something more than mutual hatred brewing. When he’d witnessed her tormenting a chained-up Spike in a highly sexualized manner he had considered pulling her aside and demanding to know what she was playing at. And that was _before_ Willow’s spell. After, well, he had been profoundly relieved when she had started seeing Riley. For a time anyway, realizing that was doomed probably even before she did. He’d gone so far as to suggest that even if he hadn’t left Sunnydale the year after her resurrection, he seriously doubted her relationship with Spike would have played out much differently.

The story was irritatingly similar from virtually everyone she’d spoken to who’d known them then. Whether her relationship with Spike was the topic or it came up as an aside. Like the exchange from a boozy lunch with her oldest friends…

_“Like, duh, Buffy. When I botched the spell, I said why don’t you marry him not why don’t you paw each other like horny teenagers. You did that all on your own. You could have spent the day planning a wedding without the lips of Spike. The spell worked the way it did because there was already something there.”_

_“Will has a point, Buff. Your magical courtship could have been a little more ‘Bridezillas’ and lot less ‘Red Shoe Diaries.’ Wedding planning can be stressful and stress is a real libido killer. I don’t think Maeve and I have ever touched each other less than we did that hell week when we were trying to sort out seating arrangements. Pissed off as it made you, our misunderstanding about the bot wasn’t totally out of left field.”_

Or a more serious conversation with the woman with whom she’d shared her calling the longest…

_“You should have seen his face, B. He was homicidally angry because he wanted something he didn’t WANT to want. He wanted you. Even if he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself yet. And I don’t mean to lose the chip so he could just take what he wanted with violence. He wanted you to want him. Could see it in his eyes, plain as day, that he already wanted YOU way more than he wanted to kill you. And he thought YOU were teasing him. Those eyes… the intensity… you caught a real tiger by the tail, B.”_

Or an awkward conversation with an ex…

_“How real was it? From where I stood it was like a slow-motion nightmare. Our relationship was heading deeper into the crapper – much of that due to MY insecurities, I know – while you had so much going on. But a lot of what you had going on you WEREN’T sharing with ME but WERE sharing with HIM. He was so determined, relentless, even though it seemed so futile at the time. He once told me that even though he knew he didn’t have a chance he had to try. I think, on some level, I envied his persistence in the face of such futility but, man, I despised him. I considered staking him more than once but I just KNEW if I had it would have been the end of us. I don’t think you realize that, even back then, when you were in the same room there was this energy buzzing between you that made everyone else feel left out. I don’t think I ever really stood a chance with you, Buffy. It was already too late.”_

Or an even more awkward conversation with an ex…

_“I could tell you that I was nothing but shocked and revolted when I first heard that you were involved with Spike but it wouldn’t exactly be the truth. The revolted part, well, yeah. Shocked? Not so much. God, this is going to give him SO MUCH satisfaction he’s going to be IMPOSSIBLE to be around but… on a purely rational level I was always grateful to you both for stopping… Angelus… from ending the world but, on a less rational level, the truce bugged me. Okay, it REALLY bugged me. Then there was his little speech in the magic shop. I wanted to wring his neck. He got to you then. Maybe just a little but then I knew that he could. And the way you told him that you violently disliked him sent a chill down my cold dead spine because there was already THIS THING between you, the way you… so familiar… like you… I was supposed to be the vampire baggage. He was supposed to be the enemy, that’s it. Like or dislike wasn’t supposed to factor into it. And even though he immediately left town on his pathetic quest to win Dru back, I had this feeling he had beaten me somehow. And we both know he didn’t stay away for long, Buffy. Once he set eyes on you he never did. And your mother liked him better than me. That STILL bugs me.”_

Buffy rolled her eyes as she recalled Angel’s words. Truth be told, they were _both_ impossible, beautiful, and loveable as fuck each in his own way. They were survivors too and, hopefully, they would both be around to look after each other for the long haul. Which, for them, would be measured in centuries, millennia even, as the living passed in and out of their lives.

“This it, Ma’am?” the driver inquired as he pulled up at the end of the drive.

“Yes, thank you.”

* * * *

_Oh my God, I can’t even…_

The scene she’d walked in on was insanely adorable. Spike was sitting on the sofa with AJ cuddled against his bare chest as Dawn lay next to him with her legs resting across his lap, fast asleep.

“Where’s your shirt?” she mouthed, pulling off her heels before padding quietly towards them.

“Drying in the loo,” he whispered as she leaned forward to kiss her niece then him.

“This child has earned her A-levels in vomiting,” he continued softly as she stood up again. “Was half expecting her head to spin round. Walked in on a bit of a rough night for the Bits. Both were in tears when I got here. Hard to say who was closer to the end of her tether. Colic.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Before I left South Ken.”

“Cup of tea?”

“Ta, love.”

Before heading into the kitchen Buffy leaned forward to kiss him again, this time with a little more heat. His eyes flared and he shot her a roguish smile. She couldn’t help herself. Spike the nurturer was so fucking sexy she could barely stand it. Smirking she turned away from the object of her apparently unquenchable desire towards the kitchen and tea duty.

The electric kettle had just clicked off when Dawn came into the kitchen. She looked exhausted and her eyes and nose were both red-rimmed, confirming Spike’s report of earlier crying. Buffy pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said softly as she rocked her sister gently before letting her go.

“Nah, woke up on my own from that decadent 60 minutes of uninterrupted sleep and Spike told me you were here.”

“Tea? Or will it keep you up?”

“Freebasing cocaine wouldn’t keep me up.”

“Had a bad day, I heard.”

“A bad day, noooooo. The first time you look into your baby’s eyes you fall so hopelessly in love that every single moment after that is an absolute gift of pure bliss and happiness. I think she hates me. Want a baby? Free of charge? Comes with all her stuff. I’ll even throw in a year’s supply of diapers.”

“Deal.”

They both turned to find that Spike and AJ had joined them in the kitchen.

“Bit, you are her brilliant and beautiful mum. But she is a Summers woman so when she’s brassed off everyone in the county’s gonna know about it. Should have seen her wee little hands balled into fists, Slayer. Reminded me of you.”

“Thank you, Spike. Really. I don’t know what the hell you did but closing the Hellmouth has nothing on what you did tonight. I was losing my mind.”

“Once she had the satisfaction of befouling my t-shirt, I think the cool of room temperature vampire soothed her. These modern nappies must be right uncomfortable when a Bitty Bit has worked herself into a fit of bother. Don’t breathe, do they, love? No ventilation,” he added sweetly, addressing AJ.

“Child-rearing expert, Spike, on the drawbacks of today’s diapers,” Buffy joked as she turned to pour boiling water into three mugs.

“Want me to take her?”

“Have your tea with Big Sis. When she gets hungry my dead man’s chest is going to lose all its appeal and only Mum’s gonna do.”

“How’d it go tonight?” Dawn asked then blew into her mug and added, “That suit is the shit. Don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

“Great, particularly for the first one. Suit’s from The Fold. Treated myself to a couple new pieces when Giles proposed these memoir Q&As.”

“So, there will be more then? ‘Cause this afternoon it was going to be a disaster and there was no reasoning with you because… please reference my earlier comment about Summers women.” He smiled when AJ reached up to latch onto his nose, noses being a recent fascination of hers.  
  


Rolling her eyes Buffy replied, “Okay, so I may have been a bit pessimistic.”

“You? Never,” her sister remarked, smiling into her mug as she took a sip of tea.

* * * *

Spike was sprawled on the bed in a clean t-shirt and pajama bottoms when Buffy returned from the bathroom. Walking over to the closet she finished changing for bed, taking off her slacks and hanging them with the jacket she had already removed then shedding her blouse and bra before pulling on her tank and sleep shorts. She could feel his eyes on her the entire time.

“I hope you’re going to behave yourself. Dawn seemed a little fragile tonight.”

“Like an old married couple, we are.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, we’re the picture of respectability. The night before last we killed a nest of demons in an alley in Brixton then you fingered me on the cab ride home. When we got home you fucked me against a wall in our front hall. The _first_ time.” An occupational hazard of slaying while wearing a skirt: easy access for a randy vampire made randier by slayage.

_Is ‘randier’ even a word?_

“Brilliant, that was. You arrived over the Thames as we were crossing Battersea Bridge.” His tone was as wistful as his prose was flowery.

Well, that was one way to put it. Another was that he’d made her come so explosively in the back of a taxicab that, to keep from screaming, she’d bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood and squeezed his thigh so tightly she’d left marks through denim. His mastery of her body was complete. If he was once her willing slave then she was now his willing instrument on which to play masterpiece after masterpiece like a filthy virtuoso.

She sighed then turned to face him. And there he was, all cheekbones and full lips and blue eyes and scarred eyebrow and strong but ridiculously soft forearms and oh-so-talented hands and even his wrists were sexy. Who the hell had sexy wrists? Spike, that’s who. Infuriatingly sexy beast that he was.

“Fun old married couple then.”

Delivered with that smile that rendered her completely helpless. There was a soft knock on the door.

“You guys decent?”

“Never, but we’re dressed,” Buffy replied with a smirk then turned to open the door.

“Sorry to bother you. Got a minute?

“Of course, Dawnie, come in.”

“Bitty Bit down for the count?”

“Finally,” she replied as she flopped down on the bed then slid up next to Spike. Crossing her arms on her belly, she stared vacantly up at the ceiling.

Buffy joined them sitting cross-legged on the other side of her sister. She knew something more was up than AJ’s tummy ache.

“Danny and I had a fight before he left for Frankfurt.”

“Need me to take a powder, Nibblet, while you have a sisterly chat?”

“No, I need to speak to you both.”

“Okay, so you had a fight. Couples fight,” Buffy commented with a shrug.

“It was about Spike.”

_Oh boy…_

“He… he said that he knows that Spike has a soul now, and knows everything he’s done for me, for us and for the world but…”

“Let me guess,” Spike interjected. “He read the Slayer’s memoir and isn’t entirely comfortable having me around what not very long ago would have been a tasty snack for me.”

“He didn’t put it exactly that way but yeah. I’m so sorry, Spike, he just doesn’t understand all this the way that we…”

She started to cry. Spike sat up and pulled her up into a hug.

“C’mon, Bit, s’alright. I understand and I’m pretty sure I’d feel the same in his shoes. Just as well he told you about it. Someone keeping his fears to himself was disastrous for Angel and his boy. Was a long time ago and they’re still recovering from it.”

“Danny has been incredibly open-minded for a civilian and this is his child we’re talking about. We can be a lot to take in all at once and, Spike’s right, if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that keeping secrets usually leads to _badness_,” Buffy concurred.

“Yeah, about that,” Dawn replied as she moved out of Spike’s embrace and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “He picked a particularly hormonal moment to spill his guts and I really lit into him.”

“Poor sod.”

“I want you to know that he’s going to have to get over it because I love you and AJ already loves you and I want you in her life forever even after I’m gone and, if she has kids, I want you in their lives. You’re _our_ vampire, Spike. We’re _your_ family. But there might be some tension when he gets back tomorrow so I wanted to let you know what’s going on and also why I’m such a raving lunatic this week.”

“Problem’s with me. I’ll have a talk with the boy.”

“What will you say?” Buffy inquired warily.

“Just tell him how it is, won’t I? Can’t deny what I was but I’m something else now. Only thing stands between who I was then and who I am now is my soul. Every day I choose to act against my nature and do right. Or as close to it as I’m ever gonna get. Figure I’ve got that in common with the living, don’t I, and a lot of them fail that test. But I’m not human and there are other risks, like my soul is disabled in some way or I’m not able to do my own thinking…”

_Like when The First…_

“In that case I’m depending on the Slayer, on you both, to do what needs to be done. What I’d _want_ you to do if I was in my right mind. Know it would hurt you to do it but it would be an act of love and mercy.”

Buffy shuddered. She would make damn sure that _never_ happened, that she’d _never_ be placed in that position. Again.

“That work for you, Dawn? Danny is your husband and AJ’s father. We’re sitting in the home he shares with you. You can’t just dismiss his feelings. He deserves to be heard and to have his concerns acknowledged and addressed.”

“Without getting his head torn off, Summers style.” Both women shot him a look. He shrugged.

“Beats the hell out of whatever I’m doing,” Dawn stated as she hauled herself up then turned and announced, “I’ll leave you to whatever it was you were about to do.”

“Would you believe sleep?” Her sister shot her a _yeah right_ look then bid them goodnight.

Buffy turned to find Spike staring into the distance, far away. He was being adult about it but she knew it had to hurt that Danny feared he would ever harm his Bitty Bit. He was, after all, the most sensitive man – dead or undead – that she’d ever met. Even before he had a soul it was obvious how words could cut him, which is why she’d been able to use them so effectively against him in the bad old days.

“Hey,” she began softly as she moved towards him.

“I want to tell you something,” she continued as she molded her body against his.

“Hmm?” he replied distractedly.

“I love you, Spike.”

“Do you now?” More engaged this time.

  
“I love the man in you. The way you try. The partner you are. The way you love the people I do, my family, my friends. Even Xander. I love the home we’ve made together. The things you know because you’ve lived forever. The way you’ll tell me a story about the Moon Landing or the end of the Ottoman Empire or whatever. But that’s not all.”

“No?”  
  


“I love the demon in you. The killer in you who understands the killer in me. The demon that makes you strong enough to fight alongside me, to help me protect others who aren’t so strong instead of being one more person I need to protect. And I love what your demon does to me. I love that you can fuck me with your fangs while you fuck me with your perfect cock. I love that I never have to hold back because I can’t hurt you or if I do hurt you a little you’ll like it. I love that when you hurt me a little and I like it you don’t make me feel dirty or wrong.”

“Why Miss Summers, you make me blush with such talk.”

“You can’t blush, you’re a vampire. Now fuck me, Vampire, but be quiet about it.”

**TBC**


	2. Belle de jour

“She’s out like a light. Wouldn’t you know it, on a night that I could actually use a distraction,” Dawn groused as she flopped onto the sofa beside her sister.

“Relax. They’re fine. They’re at a local watching footy. According to Giles, Englishmen can work out almost anything over a pint at a halfway decent pub.”

“Footy?”

“I’ve been living with Spike for almost two years. It seeps in,” Buffy explained.

“Hey!” Dawn brightened then went on, “At AJ’s six-month checkup the doctor asked me if I’d had a glass of wine yet. When I told her I hadn’t, she asked what I was waiting for. She said a glass or two a week wouldn’t hurt, that relaxing was good for us both. It’s Friday night, so why not?”

“You want wine.”

“Better. We have a bottle of champagne – I think it’s prosecco actually – in the back of the fridge. I’ll add orange juice to mine to cut the booze.”

“Mmm… don’t think I’ve had champagne since my birthday,” Buffy mused with a faraway look in her eye.

“Uh-huh,” her sister replied with a sidelong glance.

“What?”

“I know that look. Given what you two are like on a random Tuesday, I can’t even begin to imagine…”

“It was… well, supernatural.”

“Um yeah, vampire and vampire slayer so of course it was supernatural.”

“No, I mean, we were kind of… possessed.”

“You mean _possessed by your insatiable hunger for one another _or like, literally, _possessed._”

“Both?” Buffy replied with a shrug.

“Oh my God, seriously?” Dawn declared rolling her eyes. “I need to hear this – well, just up to the point after which I wouldn’t be able to look either of you in the eye ever again – but I’m going to need that drink first.”

“I’ll help!” Buffy offered cheerily as she followed her sister into the kitchen. Truth be told, she’d been _dying_ to tell someone about it ever since her birthday.

****  
  
Montmartre, Paris

**January 19, 2021**

It was precisely eleven minutes into her birthday as Buffy smiled slyly into her glass. Champagne bubbles danced across her tongue in the loveliest way as she lounged on the gloriously comfortable bed in a blush-colored corset and frilly string panty under a Chantilly lace-trimmed silk robe in a pale pink hue called _vieux rose_. Several strings of pearls, one knotted and the rest loose, hung from her neck and a tear-shaped pearl from each ear with her hair pinned up loosely, completing the look she had assembled in consultation with staff from two of Paris’ top lingerie shops and the woman who’d helped her get ready, having been sent by Laurent, the charming and discreet valet assigned to their room. The luxury boutique hotel, and its lush _Belle Époque_ furnishings, created an atmosphere of languid sensuality. Every room including this one – with its decadent silks, satins and embroideries in deep blues and purples – was inspired by the _maison close_ that once occupied the building.

The plan had assembled in her mind on the solo train ride from London and she had spent much of the time since her midday arrival in Paris preparing. Having been introduced to the valet at check-in she had immediately conferred with him to make the necessary arrangements then spent the afternoon shopping. After a no frills but delicious roast chicken dinner at a local café she had luxuriated in a rosewater-infused bath until there was a polite knock on the door. Marine had given her a manicure and pedicure, helped with her with hair and makeup and, most importantly, laced her into the corset. It was her 40th birthday and, hell yes, she was treating herself.

Because she was never supposed to have a 40th birthday, a point Spike had made when he’d surprised her two days earlier with his plans to mark the occasion. Not only were they revisiting the city where they had spent her 30th birthday – this time as a couple who would return to their London flat for a few days to continue the celebration with family and friends then fly back to the home they shared in California to celebrate some more with their Cali contingent – but it was their private celebration of the life she had lived since those 147 days when, at the tender age of 20, she hadn’t lived at all. The flash of pain in his eyes at the mere mention of those long-ago days literally half a lifetime ago had compelled her to pull him into her arms and kiss it away. He was a precious thing, her treasure, which is why a wry confession about the hotel he’d booked had sparked an idea as she’d watched the French countryside roll by.

_“The beauty and skills of the ‘courtisanes’ of that ‘maison’ were legendary. Immortalized in word, image and song by greats of the age – writers, painters and composers they fucked and inspired. Would appeal to his poet’s sensibility, wouldn’t it? And to his sad, lonely, neglected prick. Maybe if the useless git hadn’t folded his own tent, had his spectacles shagged off by a talented French whore… maybe he wouldn’t have needed Dru to make a man of him. God, what a tosser.”_

Turns out, William had been secretly, shamefully intrigued by whispered tales of the brothel that had operated in the very spot where she now awaited the arrival of the lethally beautiful creature he was destined to become. In fact, the place had so captured William’s imagination that he had resolved to visit on the trip to Paris he’d taken in the last year of his life. He had wanted to sample its earthly delights, to see the women he’d heard so much about and, God help him, to touch one, to experience the erotic artistry of a living, breathing Venus. He had made it as far as the doorstep when he’d lost his nerve and slunk back into the night, equal parts disappointed and disgusted with himself.

While Spike had confided the story as an amusing aside Buffy had felt a pang of sympathy for poor William. If he had loved himself more it was indeed unlikely that he would have ended up in Dru’s arms. But then Spike would never have blasted into her life and she was long past being sorry about that. Still, she felt for the unfulfilled poet inside the vampire she loved and doing something for him would be her birthday present to herself.

A single hard knock on the door was followed by, “You in there, love? Didn’t bother to stop at the desk for the key.”

Of course, he didn’t. And nobody stopped him from strolling into the fancy hotel as if he owned the place either. Nobody ever had as far as she could remember. For years it had been _her_ job to stop Spike from wreaking his own signature brand of havoc. Grinning wickedly, she set aside her glass and slid from the bed.

“Showtime,” she muttered under her breath before opening the door.

“I believe the name is William, isn’t it?” she drawled as she gave his body the once over before meeting his eyes which responded first with confusion then surprise then amusement. He nodded with an impish grin.

While sporting typical Spike attire his hair was a curly mess, which meant that it must have gotten wet somewhere along the nighttime journey from London because, she knew, he never would have left the flat that way. Either he’d gotten caught in rain somewhere or… who knows, with Spike there were an infinite array of possibilities. Regardless, the soft, unruly curls would certainly aid in the roleplay and, this being new to her, she could use all the help she could get.

“Come in, William,” she instructed, stepping aside to let him pass then closing the door.

Turning, she found him standing nervously in the middle of the room, his eyes now filled with a delicious combination of excitement and… fear?

“My name is Buffy Summers but you can call me Buffy.”

“Wouldn’t be proper, Miss Summers. We’ve only just met,” he muttered diffidently as he blinked away from her and, she realized, his accent was different. Then it was as if something clicked into place; she stopped being self-conscious about what she was doing. Stopped _thinking about it_ entirely.

“We won’t worry about what’s _proper_ in this room, but if this is a challenge to wring my given name from your lips at least once before the sun comes up then I accept your challenge, William.”

“I don’t… know what to say, Miss…”

Oh my, but this adorably awkward English gentleman was going to be a genuine pleasure. He was handsome with such delicate and refined features but seemingly unaware of his appeal. She could sense the depths of passion bubbling just beneath the repressed façade. He was a sensitive type with the soul of an artist, she could tell. She wondered what he did to pass the time. Perhaps she’d ask him. _Later._

“So, tell me,” she cooed as she approached him. “Are you an apt pupil?”

He looked surprised by the question but responded, “In school I was known to be conscientious in my studies.”

She chuckled throatily as she moved behind him to remove his jacket then advised, “Have a seat over there and let’s have some champagne, shall we?” She gestured towards the bed. He didn’t move a muscle.

“Go on,” she prodded with a gentle shove then tossed his coat over a chair.

William sat demurely at the edge of the bed, hands fidgeting at his sides. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed several times, drawing her eyes to his elegant neck to which she made a mental note to devote appropriate attention. She grabbed the ice bucket and a glass for him, padded over to the nightstand, set the bucket on the floor then filled his glass.

“Here,” she offered and he took the glass from her, appearing relieved to have something to do with one of his hands.

Filling her own glass, she set the bottle into the bucket then lifted her glass to toast, “To conscientious English boys!”

Buffy sipped her champagne, observing him coolly as he took several anxious gulps, still pointedly avoiding meeting her eyes as she stood before him. His lips were exquisite – full and nicely shaped. It was her prerogative to refrain from kissing but that would be a waste of the alluring lips of William. This peculiar English gentleman was literally made for it.

“So, William,” she began as she unbelted her robe. “What may I ask is your pleasure?”

His dark blue eyes seemed to grow even darker as he drank in her scantily-clad form. Finally meeting her eyes, his were filled with such adoration and longing that it sent a jolt of heat through her. Leaning forward he pressed his forehead gently to her torso, just beneath her breasts. He was trembling. She emitted a soft gasp. Her English gentleman had surprised her with his bravery.

“Miss Summers, I am afraid I could not say but would very much like to know,” he uttered against the delicate lace of her corset. The effect was deliciously arousing.

Stroking his hair with her free hand, she whispered, “And so, you shall, dear boy. And so, you shall.”

* * * *

“Well, say _something!”_

Buffy thought she’d never live to see the day. She had rendered her sister speechless. Dawn just sat there gaping, her eyes like saucers. After a fortifying sip of mimosa, she declared,

“You were a whore!”

“A _courtisane_.”

“What has even happened to you? You used to be so judgy.”

“You _know_ what happened to me or, rather, _who._ Major proponent and schemer of _Spuffy_, remember? But it gets better. Or weirder. Much.”

* * * *

Spike bolted upright in bed and Buffy’s eyes to flew open, her hands reflexively shooting out to her sides to steady herself even though she was reclining beside him in bed.

“What the _hell_ was _that?” _he asked, dragging a shaky hand across his face.

“What?” she replied distractedly.  
  
“Let me think a minute.”

He blinked around the room illuminated by tiny slivers of light permeating the dark draperies then looked down at the string of pearls around his neck. Running his fingers over them he looked over at her then cast her a lopsided smile.

“So, it wasn’t a dream.”

“Hmm…?” she hummed, blinking up at him as she stretched. This bed really was heaven.

“Look at you, you gloriously shaggable minx.”

She did and what she saw was several more strings of pearls, the corset she’d purchased the day before twisted around her midsection and, well, that was it. She met his eyes again and shrugged then pulled at the corset, stating,

“I think I may have to be buried in this thing.”

Smiling indulgently, he commanded, “Sit up and let me.”

She did and he deftly unlaced her with a well-practiced hand, which she chose not to dwell on. When he was finished he pulled the corset off her body and inspected it.

“Bloody brilliant, this is.”

“If you can’t get good lingerie in this town, it isn’t to be got.”

“S’your birthday, pet. Why did I get the prezzie?”

“Wanted to treat myself to a little roleplay. Give William the experience he missed out on all those years ago.”

“That was no roleplay, love. Not sure what it was but I felt… I _was_ William again.”

“And I was kind of a whore.”

“A courtisane, the finest kind of whore. The champagne of whores. And since when you do speak French?”

“Well, that’s good to hear since I kinda liked it… wait, I spoke French?” She thought about it and _remembered_ speaking French even if, for the life of her, she had no idea what she had said.

“Well,” she added. “I did take French in high school but, as Willow could tell you, it wasn’t a strong suit.”

“Trust me, the phrases you used are _not_ taught in high school, not even in a place as permissive as Sunnydale.”

“You know, I was studying French when we met or, to be more accurate, when you came to the Bronze to check me out and threaten my life.”

“No, you weren’t. You were dancing with Harris and Red.”

“Before that. I had this brilliant idea that I could mix homework with a social life. Not one of my cleverest notions.”

“Ah. Guess we’ve come full circle then, haven’t we.”

“Well, we’ve definitely come,” she remarked with a wry chuckle.

“That we have, my radiant mistress, but what about what happened last night? Weren’t exactly ourselves, were we?”

Sighing she replied, “And I guess we have to find out why but nothing short of an imminent apocalypse is going to make me regret it.”

“Happy Birthday, pet.”

* * * *

“Turns out, we didn’t have to wait long or even leave our room to find out why. When Laurent brought breakfast – which was _so_ good by the way even though it was just baked goods, fruit, coffee and hot cocoa for Spike – he asked if we had enjoyed the _specialty of the house._”

“How? What? How?” Dawn rambled before taking another sip of her drink.

“Three excellent questions. Apparently, the owner of the hotel employs a coven specializing in love spells to give willing participants’ fantasies a boost. Guess that’s one way to ensure repeat business. And that’s not all. With every meal we ordered in the room, Spike got a carafe of warm blood. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“But, wait, Spike doesn’t like magic.”

“Yeah, about that. Let’s just say that his dislike is situational.”

* * * *

Buffy patted her face dry with a towel then turned to head into the bedroom. She froze when she saw rose petals, blood red, scattered across the duvet cover. Whether it was the shock of the intrusion putting her off her game or she was just tired, her slayer senses were a fraction too late and she found herself with her arms pinned to her sides and face-first against the wall before she’d had the opportunity to react.

“Hello, Cutie,” he crooned into her ear, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

“What are you doing here, Spike?” she spat through gritted teeth as she struggled to release his hold on her. Fruitlessly. He had well and truly gotten the drop on her this time.

_Stupid, stupid Buffy!_

“You know what I’m doing here. Slayer of Slayers, aren’t I? Come to take my third.”

“But how did you get in here?” If she could keep him talking then maybe she could buy some time to figure a way out of this.

“Rented room. Not yours. Should’ve done a protection spell. Uh, uh, uh, careless.”

His triumphant tone infuriated her and she realized that she was more angry than frightened. Why wasn’t she frightened? Maybe because for all his talk of making her his third, he hadn’t even come close since that first time when her mother had saved the day. And why was that? And what was he doing here anyway? Shouldn’t he be off somewhere with his demented hellbitch of a sire? God, she wasn’t here too was she because Buffy was _so_ not in the mood for _her._

“Penny for your thoughts, Slayer. Second thought, since they’ll be your last, make it a pound.”

“As if,” she scoffed. “We both know you’re not going to kill me.”

“That so? What makes you so sure?”

“Because for all your talk you haven’t even come close.”

“Always someone in the way, wasn’t there? Not this time, love. You’re all alone and far from home.”

“And totally at your mercy in my silk nightie which is why _killing me…” _She swiveled her hips, grinding against him, and felt his body tense.

“Is _not_ what you _really_ came for.”

Her words just hung there for what seemed like an eternity. Perhaps she had miscalculated and he really _was_ there to kill her so in addition to being, you know, _dead_ she would die with the humiliation of rejection.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid Buffy!_

“Bitch!” he growled and with the same sudden violence with which he’d pinned her to the wall she was being flung away from him, landing face first on the petal-strewn bed. Flipping over she flicked a strand of hair from her face and glared at him, his face a mask of rage, confusion and something she did not want to acknowledge.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Spike. Get out,” she warned.

“Make me,” he shot back as he stalked towards her.

“Don’t make me stake you.”

_Stake… stake… where the fuck is my stake?!?!_

“Won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Same reason you knew I wouldn’t kill you.”

“What are you…” Buffy gasped as he crawled over her body.

“Doing? No idea, Slayer. Guess we’re both about to find out.”

* * * *

“Okay, so your total lack of reaction to this is a bit unsettling.”

Shrugging, Dawn replied, “Figured the two of you replay your fighting days in the bedroom. Common knowledge it was pretty hot.”

“Common…” Buffy shook her head in disbelief.

“Whose fantasy was that? Yours or his?”

“After the whole _initiation of William_ thing, we had a really nice day. Dozing. Talking. And, well, you get the idea. When the sun went down we went out. He bought me a fancy birthday dinner and we stayed out late. Paris is probably my favorite late-night city. We were walking along the river when Spike asked if I ever wished that he could be all William all the time. I told him of course not but I wanted to make sure that he understood that… what I am… what he is… what we are…”

“That being the formerly-evil undead makes you hot.”

“Seriously, Dawn, your opinions about this are _way_ too formulated. Is there a subreddit on my sex life or something?”

“I want popcorn. Want popcorn?”

Buffy realized that was the only response she was going to get as she watched her sister saunter into the kitchen.

* * * *

“I may never move again,” Buffy announced when her breathing and heart rate returned to normal.

“Best get some liquids into you. Afraid I might have gotten a bit carried away,” Spike commented as he traced the bite marks on her torso all the way down to the one in her groin. She shivered.

“I’m fine. Just completely and thoroughly fucked, like I could not possibly be fucked more than I have already been fucked.”

“That a challenge, Slayer?” he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“God no, I would like my legs to start working again before dinner tomorrow. Will told me about a restaurant in Beaubourg that I’d really like to try before we leave.” Turning on her side to face him she winced then sighed.

Gently tracing her lips swollen with punishing kisses he observed, “Been a long time since we’ve done each other like that. Expect it’ll take a day for the scratches to heal even with the good stuff Laurent keeps bringing me.”

“Speaking of, we should probably try to get a few hours’ sleep before he shows up with breakfast.”

“Sometimes I wonder…” he looked pensive as he spoke.

“What?”

“If I ever could’ve done it.”

“Oh, I think you were giving it the old college try in the beginning. You know I was. Pipe organ?”

“Yeah, but after that first year…”

“Probably not. There were always extenuating circumstances and then feelings became the extenuating circumstances.”

“I love you, Slayer.”

“Love you too, Slayer of Slayers.”

“Love you more, Slayer of Slayer of Slayers.”

“Shut up and go to sleep, Spike.”

“Bossy.”

“Always and you love it.”

“I really do.”

* * * *

Dawn had left Buffy alone with her birthday memories when she had gone to feed A.J. She was just returning to the parlor as Danny and Spike came in.

“Nice evening?” Buffy inquired nonchalantly, not wishing to place too much importance on one night out nor too much pressure on her brother-in-law.

“Old Bank isn’t a half-bad local,” Danny replied with a shrug.

“They have spicy wings,” Spike added, grudgingly.

_Good Lord, what happened?_

Dawn clearly sensed it too because she asked,

“Is everything? I mean…”

“About the sprog? Oh yeah, we cleared the air about that straightaway only…”

“What?” Buffy inquired.

“It’s just…”

“What?!?!” she repeated more insistently.

“Okay, why did no one _tell me_ that he supports Liverpool?”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title references the 1968 film starring Catherine Deneuve.
> 
> I based their hotel on an actual hotel in Paris, Maison Souquet, which was briefly a maison close but in the early 1900s long after the demise of William. While the hotel is inspired by the Parisian brothels from the Belle Époque period (generally defined as a golden age for Paris that fell between the end of the Franco-Prussian War in 1871 and the start of WWI in 1914) they do not, as far as I know, provide the unique services enjoyed by our hero and heroine in this chapter. ;-)
> 
> Since at least one commenter to Class Protector expressed appreciation for my fashion notes, Buffy the courtisane wears the Malia Blush Corset and Ania Blush String from Cadolle. Her robe is the Egérie Chantilly lace-trimmed silk-satin robe by Carine Gilson. The nightie she is wearing when nasty Spike comes calling, the fate of which remains unknown (but I don't hold out much hope, do you?), is the matching Egérie Chantilly lace-trimmed silk-satin nightdress also, obviously, by Carine Gilson.
> 
> Oh, and Liverpool and Manchester United: very unmixy.


	3. Paterfamilias

“Peaches will be bloody useless, per usual. Sorry I bothered.”

Buffy looked up from her book and responded, “I don’t follow. Convincing Angel to come over here to spend time with Connor and his family is one of the sweetest things you’ve ever done.”

“Watches hockey, he does. Lives in a place that _never_ freezes and follows a sport played on ice. Cares naught about football ‘cept maybe that thing they bizarrely call ‘football’ in America. Won’t have my back with Danny. Hence bloody useless. Per usual. Sodding Liverpool…” Spike sighed a sigh of the long suffering. She rolled her eyes and set her book aside.

“I’ll have you know that I used to ice skate, had dreams of doing it competitively, growing up in L.A. There’s this new-fangled invention called refrigeration, maybe you’ve heard of it. Indoor ice rinks.”

“Know, that’s different. Why Liverpool? Could’ve stood bleeding Arsenal more.”

“Guy is afraid that you might _eat_ his child and you’re all magnanimous. He likes a different sports team than you do and it’s an insurmountable obstacle. You are by far the silliest undead demon I have ever met.”

“Clearly, you understand _nothing_. Where, oh where, did we go wrong for our Nibblet to have made such an error in judgment?” Buffy smiled and curled up to him.

“I’m more curious about the _non-football_ portion of the evening.”

“We talked. Came to an understanding.”

“That’s all I’m getting?” She sat up and quirked an eyebrow at him. He pulled her back to him then continued,

“Told him a particularly nasty tale from the old days – one I shall _not_ be repeating so don’t bother asking – then invited him to ask me anything he wanted to about it. Explained that knowing what I’m capable of, not denying what I was then or what I am now, is key to doing right. Day I no longer believe myself _capable_ of the things I once did is the day you stake me proper, Slayer.”

Her reply was a long, slow kiss followed by, “Sometimes you’re so wise.”

“Been called a lot of things in my day…”

She silenced him with another kiss.

* * * *

“Would you believe our Danny’s a Liverpool fan?”

Angel shrugged. Spike shot Buffy a look that read, _“See? Useless.”_ She rolled her eyes. Dawn walked in with aforementioned Liverpool fan in tow carrying a tray of steaming mugs of coffee and tea. With a smirk she remarked,

“The only thing missing from this picture is Riley Finn.” The vampires scoffed in unison.

“Troublemaker,” Buffy muttered.

“What’s a Riley Finn?” Connor asked.

“Don’t ask,” his father replied.

“Wanker,” the other vampire added unnecessarily.

“Little pitchers, big ears,” Buffy warned. “That’s going to end up being AJ’s first word if you keep it up.”

The scene before her was as appealing as it had once been unimaginable. There was her first love, sitting on her sister’s sofa with his beautiful granddaughter, Shahlyla, asleep in his arms. Next to him sat the love of her life with his, very much awake as usual, Bitty Bit in his. If there were such a thing as a “hot men with cute babies” calendar then they could be all the months.

“Dad, let me take her so you can enjoy your coffee,” Connor’s wife, Farah, offered.

“We can put her down in AJ’s crib and bring the portable monitor down,” Dawn recommended. “There’s no way my kid is going down while we have company. She might miss something.”

“Brilliant, thanks,” Farah replied as she deftly scooped up her daughter from her grandfather’s arms, careful not to wake her.

Angel beamed at being addressed as “Dad” by his daughter-in-law. He exchanged a look with Spike who wore that trademark _told you so_ expression she knew so well. She imagined he was feeling rather pleased with himself. For all his bluster, she knew that Angel’s presence made him happy. The evening had the feeling of ritual – two old Aurelians showing off their respective families to one another – that would very much appeal to the sensibilities of her punk rock Victorian. And, of course, he loved the sire of his sire, the depths to which she had only come to realize after she had moved in with him. They bickered, rubbed each other the wrong way, and kept their distance for necessary intervals. But, at the end of the day, they were eternally connected. First by blood then by the peculiarities of their existence as ensouled master vampires who understood one another like no one else possibly could.

It was obvious when it was Angel on the other end of the phone when she’d walk in on a conversation. There was an intimacy to Spike’s tone usually reserved for her or Dawn but with an edge reserved exclusively for his grandsire. Well that and the fact that it was usually more of an argument than a conversation. In fact, it had been one such argument she had walked in on a couple months earlier that had led them to this evening. Sipping her coffee, she recalled Spike’s end of the debate.

_“Your son’s wife is a watcher – a good one so says Dawn, tough and smart. Guess she’d have to be to grow up proud and strong, daughter of immigrants, surrounded by the polite and bloody impolite racism back home. Bird agreed to name her first-born in honor of the matriarch of our charming undead horde. Shahlyla means ‘Queen of the Night.’ Who do you think she’s named for, Freddy-bleeding-Mercury? S’not like Farah wouldn’t be able to deal with the likes of you. Get over yourself, Peaches.”_

_“Invited you, didn’t he? What, you afraid spending time with people who might actually love you betrays your sacred duty to brood us all to death? I get it, feel the need to punish yourself for your sins, but ever occur to you that you’re also punishing your boy when we both know he’s already endured more than a lifetime of it? Listen…”_

_His tone softened._

_  
“Know it hasn’t been easy for you two. Both lost something then. Maybe Connor’s trying to get it back now. Missed his childhood, you both did. For God’s sake, Angel, don’t miss hers.”_

_“Risk, yeah there’s always risk and not all of it has to do with what we are… don’t I know it. Shit… just… happens in this sodding world. Minute you open your heart there’s a chance it’ll break, whether it beats or not. But their love, undeserving as we are of it, is worth the risk. They want us, damned if I know why, but they do. Love us even if we’re a danger simply by virtue of what we are, blinking bloody targets on our backs. Don’t know why I have to explain this to you. Think about it, Angel, your boy isn’t even supposed to exist but he does. And he wants you to know his wife and baby girl. Wants to share his joys with his dad.”_

_The sharper tone returned._

_“Yeah, you take some time to think about it but not too hard, right? Wouldn’t want you to injure yourself, you gormless tit… yeah, I called you a tit.”_

* * * *

Buffy was in the kitchen tidying up when Angel came in. His presence was strong, quiet and so innately _male_. She smiled.

_You never really get over your first love, do you?_

“Looks like this party’s starting to break up. Dawn’s feeding Arabella now and she’ll be reclaiming her own crib. She’s alright, that niece of yours. Cute as a button. A family trait.” Her niece’s full name sounded so pretty on his lips.

“She’s taken to you. Must have a thing for vampires… another family trait.”

“Remember that _you_ said it.”

She could hear the smile in his voice; she hadn’t turned to face him yet. Rinsing the last of the items that couldn’t go into the dishwasher she placed them in the draining board then, grabbing a tea towel to dry her hands, finally turned to meet those dark, soulful eyes.

“I’m glad you decided to come over here to spend time with your family,” she said, adding, “You look happy.”

“So do you. God, Buffy, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You practically glow, you’re…”

“Effulgent?” They both laughed.

“I suppose the poet was bound to get the girl in the end.”

She shrugged and, blinking away from him, replied, “If things had been different, if a truck driver had called in sick or had a dead battery, might’ve been another girl.”

“I don’t think so, Buffy. It’s really only been you for a long time. I know he… cared about her… a lot… but I don’t think he’d ever have been able to give himself to her completely. I think that’s part of the reason the whole thing tore him up so much. Still does. The guilt of knowing that even if they had been able to be together, a part of him would always belong to you even if he never set eyes on you again. Knowing that she died knowing it too.”

“You seem awfully sure about that.”

“Hello, guilt expert here,” he affirmed with a wave. “And also founding member of the ‘Buffy Summers Kept a Part of My Heart’ Club.”

She looked up at him again and smiled. “Fair’s fair. Didn’t get all of mine back either. Souvenir, I guess.”

“Most treasured.”

“Now you sound like him.”

“Well, that’s just mean.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. They were quiet for a time until she broke the silence.

“Know what’s funny?”

“Would love to.”

“Today, seeing you with babies in your arms reminded me of fantasies I had back then. Daydreaming in history class. Or French class. Or while Giles was droning on about one thing or another. It all seemed so impossible then but here we are. Maybe not the way I originally imagined but…”

“Here we are,” he echoed with a smile.

They each took a step forward and he enfolded her in an embrace, so familiar and comforting the way his large body encircled hers. It was sweet and melancholy at the same time. Like visiting the home of your youth, a place you hold dear but just don’t belong anymore.

“Oh, right, helluva week I’m having.”

Spoken with amusement not rancor. Still holding one another they turned to find Spike standing in the kitchen doorway, scarred brow flying full mast.

“Find out I’ve bloody Liverpool in the family. Now I’m gonna have to put up with _your_ stink all over _my_ bird.”

“He’s a poet, you know,” Angel commented wryly.

“And a pig,” Buffy added, gazing into the devilish eyes of her lover.

* * * *

“You and Angelus fucked, right? What was _that_ like?”

Spike snorted his whisky, eyes watering. Buffy winced and sat up straight. Alive or undead that had to sting.

“Might want to warn a bloke before you go asking a question like that.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Danny and Dawn had gone up to bed, leaving them alone in the parlor. Spike had poured himself a whisky and taken a seat next to where Buffy had curled up on the sofa, her legs tucked under her and her head resting on her outstretched arm. When he’d casually tucked his free hand into the curve of her bent knee it had emboldened her to ask the question.

“Well?” she prodded. He cast her a sidelong glance.

“Peaches been putting funny notions in that head of yours?”

“Of course, because a 40-year-old woman is totally incapable of fathoming the idea of two guys getting it on.”

“Two… _guys? _What _are_ you on about, woman?”

“I thought we could talk about _anything…”_

“Within reason, yeah?”

“It’s not like I’m asking you about slaughtered orphans or defiled nuns.”

“Never defiled a single nun.”

“Oh, well that’s _something_, I guess.” She frowned at the implication that he issued no such denial about orphans then continued, “We’re getting off topic.”

“Are we? Pity.”

“C’mon, I thought when it came to, you know_… _we could…_” _She unconsciously darted her eyes and felt heat rise in her cheeks. A knowing smile unfurled across his lips that made her want to run upstairs and lock herself in the bathroom. Which was ridiculous because she was the one who’d brought it up.

“Why you dirty girl.”

“What?”

“The idea of your now and forever and your once and former doing the nasty gets you hot.”

“No, I mean, I’m just curious is all. You… you lived together for years and you’ve been impressing upon me for like ever that vampires don’t abide any _conventions_ in bed.”

“Oh, right, that’s all. Curiosity. Okay, then, let’s see if I can satisfy your… _curiosity_. Ask away.”

“So, you did, right?”

“Think you already know the answer to that question.”

“Like once or twice or… more.”

“Once or twice? We talking at a time here or total?”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“Wow.”

“You asked.”

“Just the two of your or were Darla and Dru…”

“Either/or any combination there above. Vampires. _No_ _conventions_.”

“But _just the two of you_ sometimes?”

“Yeah, when the girls were out, away, _otherwise engaged._ Not sure either of us was particularly disposed that way but when you’re driven only by your desires there’s more than one way to skin a cat. ‘Course lots of people are more sexually fluid than they realize but the living do live by their _conventions._ Gotta put a label on every sodding thing.”

“So, it was… good… you…”

“Got off? Have we not met, love? Depended, though. When it was an act of pure violence, well, s’pose I did then too, but when Angelus was feeling more tender, it was… a little bit of alright…”

He laughed then and observed, “You should see your face, Buffy. Peaches knew what we were on about right now he’d birth an entire litter of kittens.”

Okay, that was a visual she didn’t need. Her head was already swimming with others. Steeling herself, she asked,

“And when Angelus _came back?_”

“God, no. _Someone _had put me in a wheelchair, remember? Besides, even if it wouldn’t have been like shagging a wet noodle, he was so consumed with hatred for you that I doubt he’d have bothered. Sometimes think the only reason he bothered with Dru was to torture me, make me feel the despair he felt. His real pleasures lay in tormenting you and your beloved Scoobies. Sorry, love, this conversation has taken a turn, hasn’t it?”

“It’s okay, I asked the question.”

They sat in ponderous silence for a time as Spike continued to sip his whisky. Buffy greedily took in the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his elegant fingers splayed on the glass, his unfairly long lashes as he blinked, while trying to imagine what it must be like to be him. He was so complex, multilayered, that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever really know him. He permeated the mundanity of her existence while still somehow existing apart from it. He was endlessly fascinating and ceaselessly alluring, his _otherness_ fueling her incessant desire for him. The more he gave, the more she wanted. If she lived another 40, 50, 60 years, she knew that she’d never get bored. She slid across his lap and pulled him into a kiss.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his lips.

“For?”

“Your honesty. For not being condescending.”

“Always told you the truth, well, unless it was gonna get my arse kicked.”

“Speaking of the truth, it does a little… get me hot… the idea of you and Angel… like that.”

“Know it. Know what kind of girl you really are, don’t I?”

“Can you really smell him on me?”

“’Course I can.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

**TBC**


	4. Hello, Cleveland!

“Morning,” Spike purred when she opened her eyes.

“Morning,” she replied with a sleepy smile.

“And how does this fine morning find you, Miss Summers?” he asked with a distinct air of smugness.

Hell, he had a right to be smug. When he had led her upstairs to bed the night before she’d expected him to be hungry and insistent, re-staking his claim on her like the conquering hero. Instead he had been slow and worshipful, kissing virtually every square inch of her body before nestling between her thighs to pleasure her with his fingers and tongue, wringing orgasm after orgasm from her until her body no longer felt solid, until she was absolutely certain all that remained of her was a vaguely Buffy-shaped puddle on the bed.

“Your body is a wondrous thing, love,” he had murmured against her quivering flesh, in _that voice_ which _always_ got to her. Sometimes when she was on the edge, just a whispered word in _that voice _would send her over.

“Built for pleasure, you are. All this heat, passion in you. You were meant to be worshipped like this. They meant for you to be just another sacrificial maid but not you. The fire in you was something they had not bargained for and you grew up to be this woman, this woman to worship and adore. To fuck with my tongue until you lose your mind because a pedestal doesn’t suit you. You’re flesh and bone and blood and brains and strength, so much strength, and I still can’t bloody believe that I get to touch you like this.” He hadn’t stopped touching her the entire time he spoke.

“Okay,” she replied rolling her eyes. “I’ll admit it, you surprised me last night. I was expecting you to go all caveman after seeing Angel and instead you didn’t even take anything for yourself before you wore me out.”

“Didn’t I? Watching you spend, over and over again, and knowing I’m the one doing that to you? Any idea how that makes me feel?”

“Manly?” she offered quirking an eyebrow.

“In a word,” he replied with a cheeky smile.

“What time is it?”

“Don’t know. Phone’s in my pants. Case you hadn’t noticed, I am not. Early, though. Sun’s been up less than an hour.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Buffy stated as she reached out to emphasize the point.

“Better get cracking though. Need to be downstairs to help with Easter Dinner,” she added as she rose to straddle his body. Pushing his arms up over his head she grinned wickedly and declared,

“My turn.”

* * * *

“I know it’s a rather large bunny but it’s for the nursery. Every proper British nursery needs a Peter Rabbit. I suppose I got a bit carried away, her first Easter and all. Or is it something else? Is there some _unique_ _meaning_ to rabbits in _your_ world?”

Danny had finally broken his silence after watching the peculiar reactions of his wife, sister-in-law and sister-in-law’s undead partner to the large plush Peter Rabbit he had giddily purchased on his way back from his business trip. He’d retrieved it from the boot of his car early that morning in celebration of Easter. They had each looked at it wistfully then exchanged knowing glances with one another that suggested a significance to rabbits of which he was not aware.

“S’okay, mate. Just reminds us of someone is all,” Spike assured.

“Anya, the woman Xander’s daughter is named after, had a _thing_ about bunnies,” Buffy explained.

“Oh,” Danny replied apologetically. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, Sweetie. How would you know if I never told you?” Dawn stated as she squeezed her husband’s arm.

“She went down in the same battle as…?”

“I did, yeah. Only she didn’t get a do-over, none of the badass women who died that day did. Go figure,” Spike remarked.

“If it’s upsetting I’ll take it away,” Danny offered.

“You’ll do no such thing. We fought that battle to make days like today possible,” Buffy insisted.

“You’re right, Bitty Bit should have her Peter Rabbit and a Paddington Bear too. Speaking of bears, your sister-in-law made a bear once. Scared the bleeding stuffing out of me, it did.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Spike can tell you all about it in the kitchen while you prepare your famous roast beast,” Dawn advised as she gently guided her husband in that direction then addressed the vampire, “You’re making the Yorkshire Pudding, right? Like you used to?”

“Didn’t forget a sodding thing I ever told you, did you?”

“Spike knows how to make Yorkshire Pudding?” Her vampire truly contained multitudes.

“His mother loved it and he used to make it to try to keep her strength up when she became ill,” Dawn explained.

“Cook didn’t do it proper,” he muttered with a faraway look in those beautiful blues.

“Oh my God, you…” Buffy said as she threw her arms around him then kissed him. This is what her mother must have seen in him. Beneath the demon she’d once pummeled with an ax.

Clearing his throat, Danny offered, “Into the kitchen then, mate?”

Stepping out of Buffy’s embrace he replied on a sigh of the put-upon, “Yeah, William the Bloody sous-chef. Thoroughly domesticated, I am, like a kitten.”

“An adorable white kitten,” Dawn joked.

“An adorable fluffy white kitten,” Buffy added with a gleam in her eye.

* * * *

“Where are you on to next on the tour?” Danny asked as they enjoyed their Easter meal.

“Scotland the beginning of next week then a couple of the European offices, Asia after that,” Buffy replied, adding, “Spike’s heading home when I leave for Scotland.”

“Oh, I thought you’d be joining her,” her brother-in-law responded.

“Nah,” Spike explained. “Don’t need my flammable nature complicating her travel plans. Besides, this is about the Slayer, not me. _Her_ story. And I’ll be wanting to catch up with Becca and Jo, Tom. Pay El and Matthew a visit. Place _still_ makes me nervous, more so now with all those fractured, vulnerable people sitting atop a would-be hellmouth.” Buffy reached over to squeeze his hand. She couldn’t fault him for taking a new hellmouth personally, even if it had been thwarted. _Narrowly._

“How is Matthew doing?” Dawn inquired, as she spooned a bit of mashed potato into AJ’s mouth. The baby shivered adorably at the sensation of something new.

“Better, but it’s slow going,” Buffy replied, smiling unconsciously at her niece’s reaction.

“Verbal now, though about the level the Bitty Bit will be in a year’s time,” Spike added with a shrug.

“You lovebirds are going to be apart for a while. How’s that going to work?” Dawn teased.

“Only six weeks until I’m stateside. Spike’s going to meet me in Cleveland the week before Memorial Day.”

“Romantic reunion with my beloved at the _Mistake on the Lake_.”

“Hellmouth aside, which Faith and her team have been locking down for almost 20 years, that’s not very nice,” Buffy chided. “You get to visit the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame. Pay your respects to your beloved Sex Pistols.”

“And Ramones, yeah, the Clash. But, take my word for it, last time I was in Cleveland the name fit. Although _Ten Cent Beer Night_ was a bloody good time for the evil undead. Whoever thought _that_ was a good idea over a hellmouth was a real genius. Sometimes wonder how humans have managed to survive this long with some of the self-destructive notions they get. All those thoroughly pissed berks staggering into dark alleyways to have a slash on their way home. Like ducks in a barrel they were. Worst hangover I ever had, never knew such a headache again until I was chipped.”

To six eyes blinking at him in incomprehension he continued, “Oh children, _do not tell me_ you’ve never heard of _Ten Cent Beer Night_.” Beaming at the prospect of educating them, Spike launched into the tale of one of the most ill-conceived ideas of the late 20th Century.

* * * *

“Have a nice weekend, love?” Spike asked on the drive back to their South Kensington flat.

“Yes, I did,” Buffy replied. “You?”

“Yeah, except for bloody Liverpool.”

“You’ll cope.”

“Yeah, I will. Danny’s alright, loves the Bit and the Bitty Bit with everything he is, can see that. Hope Summers the Younger isn’t too hard on him.”

“They’ll be fine. I think it was good that we spent the weekend, that Dawn spilled the beans. Life’s enough of a challenge. I’m _so over_ destructive secrets.”

“Yeah, in that spirit, pet…” He hesitated.

“What?”

“Your ex invited me out for a pint this week. Wants to have a quiet word.”

“About?”

“Family.”

_Family? Family… oh… Family._

“_Your_ family.”

“Something’s up with her, apparently. Besides the usual. Didn’t want to spoil our evening by getting into it the other night. Hence our little assignation.”

“Can I help?”

He was silent for a time until he replied, “Love you with everything I am and ever was, but I think the last thing this triangle needs is another corner.” He had a point.

“Point taken.”

“Did say we might need the witch, though, if she’s willing.”

“I’m sure Willow will be happy to help if she can.”

“Don’t want you to feel excluded but I’ve no idea what’s up. Fragile as she may be, Dru’s dangerous and has managed to survive, mostly on her own, for two decades. Even with that addled brain of hers. Need I remind you she took a slayer once?”

“No, you need not. Totally remember that.” He was silent again and she knew what he was thinking.

“I know how hard it would be for you, if you had to… even though you once offered to do it for me.”

“Yeah, not my finest hour. Would be hard on Angel too. Carries the guilt of making her what she is, and not just a vampire but… broken.”

“Then I hope that _neither_ of you has to,” Buffy said, slipping her hand over his on the stick shift.

* * * *

**May 2021**

**Cleveland, OH**

_When you two are finished_

_Banging down the rafters  
_

_Let me know_

“Good to know that age hasn’t dulled Faith’s edges,” Buffy quipped as she held the phone up for Spike to read. He took it from her and typed,

_Bout finished for now_

_Something up on the Hellmouth?_

“Really? You _had_ to confirm what we’ve been doing all day?”

“As if everyone in the room last night didn’t figure that’s what we’d be up to as soon as we were alone.”

“We were hardly all over each other. A polite kiss when you arrived then we barely looked at each other the rest of the night.”

“Yeah, because if I’d looked into those lethal green eyes of yours I’d have had to drag you to the loo for a shag. Then I’d have Rupert on my undead ass about corrupting impressionable young slayers or some rot.”

“Well, in his defense, he was a total failure at keeping your paws off his original charge.”

“His original charge _started_ the pawing, remember?”

“Yeah, and he knows that too. He sees the way women look at you. You’re sex on a stick, Spike.”

“Am I now?”

“Don’t be coy, you know it. I assume that you once used it to your wicked advantage. You unleashed it on me full force the moment I set eyes on you. It used to make me so mad, I wanted to pummel you. Mostly because…”

“Because?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know – because it didn’t _just_ make me _mad_.” He snickered. She punched him playfully.

“Oh, c’mon now. Fair’s fair. Dancing with that shiny California Girl hair bouncing to say nothing of your bouncing…” She glared playfully.

“Go ahead, finish that statement,” she warned. He sighed.

“That look right there. Righteous indignation that sends a tingle straight to my manhood. Why do you think I couldn’t wait for St. Vigeous?”

“Because you’re impulsive and have a hard time sticking to a plan?”

“Well, yeah, but also because I was impatient, couldn’t wait to _dance_ with you. You were already in there, worming your way into my unconscious, little did I know it then.” Buffy’s phone buzzed again.

_Spike, know that was you ;-)_

_B would never cop to it_

_Dinner at Lola_

_Few blocks from the hotel_

_8:30 late enough for Spike to walk over?_

_Can do later – Symon owes me a favor (long story)_

_If you can bear to be dressed_

_And vertical for a few_

“As if being dressed and vertical ever stopped us,” Buffy noted with a smirk.

“God, I’ve missed you. Hard to believe six weeks could feel like an eternity to an immortal. Then seeing you in front of all those people last night, answering difficult questions. Totally honest and straightforward. Fearless, you are.” They shared a lingering kiss broken when, this time, Spike’s phone pinged. He rose uncharacteristically promptly to check it.

“What’s up?” Buffy asked at the sight of his furrowed brow.

“Tell you about it on the walk over to the restaurant, yeah? And tell her 8:30 is fine. Want to hear that story. Watch him all the time on the telly.”

Even though his tone was cheerful, his eyes never left his phone as he spoke. She looked up at the ceiling and expelled a heavy sigh. Something was definitely up.

And it was Tuesday.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to anyone from, or with ties to, Cleveland. No offense intended. Thanks to rigorous environmental regulations, may they rest in peace :-(, and the rebirth of the American city, I know that Cleveland has come a long way since the bad old days of the 1970s.
> 
> Ten Cent Beer Night is a darkly hilarious chapter in the annals of What could possibly go wrong? It answers the question no one asked about what would happen if you converted an entire sports stadium in a city devastated by the economic collapse of the Rust Belt into what was essentially a giant open bar. Long story short, the baseball game scheduled to be played that night had to be suspended with both teams joining forces to fight their way out of Cleveland Stadium. And, of course, Billy Martin was smack in the middle of the whole thing, a point that will again only have significance to baseball fans. You don't have to be a sports fan to enjoy the chaotic perfection of the story and there are several podcasts about the incident, my personal favorite being The Dollop with Dave Anthony and Gareth Reynolds. Let's just say that it would have made complete sense that Spike would be there to capitalize on the supreme idiocy of the scheme.
> 
> For those less obsessed with food than I am, Lola is celebrity chef, Michael Symon's, restaurant in his beloved hometown. I could totally see him getting on with Faith, particularly if she'd saved his ass from some demon or a hex placed by a jealous competitor. ;-)


	5. California dreamin’

_And happy anniversary weekend to you too!_

Buffy frowned as she toasted her image reflected in the window of the Council jet conveying her and Spike from Cleveland to Los Angeles. He sat across the aisle from her, reading, or at least pointedly staring at the pages of a book. As soon as the plane had reached cruising altitude, they had each grabbed a mini bottle – Dewar’s for him and Cab Sav for her – but had not uttered a single word to one another since takeoff. The tension was so thick it could punch a hole in the fuselage, which would be one way to avoid the weekend – one that was supposed to have special significance as the closest a vampire slayer and her vampire lover were ever likely to get to an _anniversary_ weekend. A Memorial Day Weekend now destined to sag under the weight of baggage, the oversize type the airlines charge extra for.

She supposed they could choose another anniversary to celebrate this year. Late September would mark 24 years since they first set eyes on each other. Almost a quarter century. Hardly seemed possible. That also marked the first time he threatened to kill her so not so much with the romance, even if in retrospect he insisted he’d been lost to her the moment he set eyes on her. Given her certainty that she would have been his third had her mother not been there to step in on parent-teacher night, _in retrospect_ didn’t mean much. She would be willing to buy that once they had made their truce subsequent attempts to kill her had been half-hearted but no fond memories to hold onto there so…

Around Thanksgiving would mark an even two decades since the first time they had been intimate. If you consider beating the snot out of one another then violently fucking down a building _intimate_. Angrily capitulating to her attraction to him, which had been there longer than she had been willing to admit to herself at the time, had set in motion one of several disastrous events in a year they had been lucky to survive. Initiating an intimate relationship with _anyone_ in her post-resurrection mental state would have been ill advised. Getting busy with a neutered master vampire with the capacity to harm only her, real stroke of genius that was. Even if, paradoxically, she doubted she would have survived that year without him. It had been raw, it had been brutal. There were no clear-cut heroes or villains in that saga so a hard pass on that one…

First kiss? Which one? Under Willow’s spell? That also happened around Thanksgiving, just after in fact and almost exactly two years prior to commencement of their doomed post-resurrection affair. They had been under a spell so did that even count? Eyewitnesses certainly thought so, to their unspoken (at the time) anxiety and/or horror depending on whom you ask, but she would never really be sure so moving on...

The kiss after Spike had withstood torture at Glory’s hands to protect Dawn? Good as any and well deserved but that anniversary had been in April and had passed while she was on her Council Q&A tour. Spike didn’t like to think about those days anyway. After all these years, it still upset him that he had failed to keep _both_ Dawn _and_ her safe, and probably would for as long as he walked the Earth. Since finishing the memoir documenting her early years as a slayer, she tended to avoid evoking that memory – one of two that never failed to draw a dark shadow across his handsome face. As for the anniversary of that _other _moment, the darkest they had shared, that had also passed while she was away. Earlier this month and merely one of many unpleasant memories of Mays past.

By her early 20s, Buffy had already come to dread the not-so-merry month. A lot had happened, very little of it good. Sending Angel to Hell to stop the Acathla from ending the world. Dying (the second time) to stop Glory from ending the world. Stopping a grief-stricken uber-Willow from ending the world. Well, Xander got the actual save that time; she mostly got her ass kicked. Watching Spike burn up to keep the First Evil from ending the world. Yeah, Mays of yore had a definite pattern to them so that even after everything had changed, the month always had left her feeling uneasy, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Until two years ago, when she’d turned May on its ear by embarking on a new and surprisingly contented phase of her life in its waning days. Ok, so only _after_ stopping a too-rich-for-his-own-good tech genius from opening a shiny new hellmouth because still May after all but at least now there was something to celebrate in the traditionally-cursed month. This year they would get to celebrate with their exes, oh boy! Their undead exes. All of them. Hell, if Darla wasn’t two decades dust she’d probably be along for the ride too. Maybe her ghost would make an appearance for good measure. Sure, why not? It’s a party!

_Fucking May._

Buffy needed more wine. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she got up and paced to the bulkhead cabinet to retrieve two more mini bottles. As she returned to her seat, a hand shot out and before she knew what was happening found herself splayed across Spike’s lap, the sound of bottles clinking together joining the sound of his book hitting the floor to pierce the tense silence of the cabin.

“Seriously?” she grunted as she struggled to get her feet back under her.

“I’d stop wiggling in my lap like that, Summers, or I’m gonna _forget_ that I want to _talk_.”

“Enough with the caveman routine! Let me up!”

“Make me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Neither… yet. But _do_ keep wiggling like that and it’s only a matter of time.” He bucked his hips for emphasis.

_Oh._

Buffy stilled in his arms. She had built up a good head of steam of righteous indignation and self-pity and sure as hell was not about to surrender either one to Spike’s erotic charms. He righted her into a seated position on his lap then took the bottles from her, slipping one into the seat pocket then cracking the other open, pouring its contents into his own empty glass and handing it to her. He then slid one hand up to caress the back of her neck and tenderly pressed his forehead to hers.

“Talk to me, Buffy,” he whispered, adding, “I hate when you retreat into yourself like this. Reminds me of…”

_The bad old days._

Pulling back to look into his searching eyes she advised, “I can be in a shitty mood, Spike. Doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world… well, it’s usually _because_ it’s the end of the world. But you know what I mean.”

“You can call the whole thing off, head straight home and I’ll catch you up once I’m sure Angel’s got everything in hand. Unlike a coupla Aurelian sods you know, _you_ don’t owe Dru a bloody thing. Not your problem, pet. Said it the other day, choice is yours. As in, you _really_ have a choice this time.”

Taking a sip of her wine then wincing – it probably wouldn’t occur to someone with vampire taste buds that Dewar’s-infused Cabernet is _not_ _a_ _thing_ for good reason – she replied,

“She asked to see me. Never mind that finding her long-lost marbles has made Drusilla a powerful vampire-psychic capable of speaking in complete sentences that someone might actually understand. What could possibly go wrong? Wait… no need to ask because the wheels are already starting to come off. Hello, it’s me, Buffy. Not exactly the type of thing I walk away from.”

_No matter how much I really, really want to._

Shrugging, she continued, “Besides, a sane Drusilla, the curiosity is killing me. I mean, you must feel the same way. First time in 100-whatever years. First time _ever_ for you too.”

His expression turning solemn he replied, “Don’t know what would be more awkward, if it’s like meeting a stranger the first time or if it _isn’t_.”

“Tell me about it. You share over a century of history.” Buffy blinked away from him.

Tilting her chin up to draw her eyes back to his, Spike assured, “Unwell Drusilla, fit Drusilla, Prime Bloody Minister Drusilla, matters naught. Our time together was done the moment you starting kicking my arse. She knew it. Long before I did. Thing is, her visions were usually spot on if you could sort out what she was on about. Translator was wonky, is all. Now it’s fixed.”

“Yeah, and there’s a Big Bad out there angry that his shiny new toy got away from him,” she remarked on a weary sigh.

“Nasty bit of work he is too from what I hear. Never had the pleasure.”

“A master vampire mob boss almost as old as you, how’d you manage to miss each other all these years?”

“Big world. Besides, objective was to avoid trouble of that sort and enjoy the finer things.”

She wrinkled her nose at what she knew he meant by _finer things_ and observed, “And yet you went out of your way to seek out and fight slayers.”

“Everyone’s got a weakness, pet, and look where mine’s gotten me,” he responded with an impish grin while cupping her derriere and giving it a playful squeeze.

Buffy did that thing she had done forever with Spike, keeping her expression neutral when she knew he was trying to get a rise out of her. He had no right spoiling the sour mood she had gone to so much trouble to work up. She took another sip of her Cab-Dewar’s and shuddered. He cast her that familiar look of amused adoration and took the glass from her. Placing it in the cup holder, he frowned and stated,

“Know you wanted to be home for the weekend after such a long time away.”

“Shit happens, ergo the cranky,” she responded with a shrug.

“I’ll make it up to you, love. Promise. When this is sorted, what’s your heart’s desire?”

Settling into his embrace she sighed and replied wistfully, “I’m just looking forward to a California summer. Early-morning runs on the beach with Becca and Jo. Meditative yoga Becca keeps trying to get Jo and I to master even though we’re both pretty much a disaster at it but we sure do laugh a lot. Maybe a girls’ night out dancing. Talked about it before we left town. Would like to drag El out for an evening. Think it would do her good. Being barefoot for days and days when there’s nothing in particular to do but just be. That perfect summer night air that caresses your skin so you can’t tell where it ends and you begin.”

“Now who’s the poet?” he remarked smiling sweetly into her hair.

“Guess I’m a little homesick. Downside of having one again after so many years.”

“All sounds lovely, pet. Not sure where I come in.”

“Duh! Dinner, backrubs, rigorous moonlight beach nookie.”

“Horrible as that all sounds I will fall on my sword and do it for you, love. Though s’pose it’ll be you falling on my sword, won’t it?”

She rolled her eyes then conceded, “Congratulations, you ruined my shitty mood.”

“Know I can’t leave you be when you’re brassed. When have I ever?” Spike murmured against her temple then kissed her there.

Cradled in her lover’s arms, Buffy’s eyes slipped closed. It wouldn’t be the anniversary weekend she’d hoped for but they’d get through it. Then home again. Eyes on the prize.

**TBC**


	6. Hello again

“It’s really nice to see you again, Connor, so soon,” Buffy offered when she’d had enough of the tense silence in the room.

She and Spike had been surprised to see Connor in tow when Angel picked them up at the airport. Angel, on the other hand, was playing it vintage taciturn and, on the drive from the airport, she’d pondered what about that she could have possibly found so compelling back in the day. Now at the Hyperion, the four of them were in his office where a definite chill had descended. Even Spike sat in uncharacteristic silence, eyes affixed to the floor in a manner evocative of his sire’s sire. Because two brooding ensouled vampires are better than one. Said no one. Ever.

“Likewise, and it’s nice to hear that _someone_ is happy to see me,” Connor replied, rolling his eyes.

“I’m always happy to see you but I have my hands full at the moment,” his father responded.

“With someone who knew my mother well that I can talk to since it’s a topic you tend to avoid like the sun.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to hear.” Angel expelled a weary sigh and shook his head.

“That my mother was all sweetness and light, June Cleaver and Carol Brady all rolled up into one. C’mon, Dad, I harbor no illusions about who and what Darla was but I’m still curious. She _is _my mother, she’s part of me._ Not_ talking about it isn’t going to change that.”

“Have her eyes, you do,” Spike offered without looking up.

“Do I? Funny, my own father has never mentioned that.”

“You do,” Angel muttered in agreement, his eyes also affixed resolutely to the floor.

“This episode of Dr. Phil sucks,” Buffy remarked casting her gaze heavenwards. Connor chuckled.

“And is really none of your concern, Buffy. Spike and I could have handled this on our own.”

“S’what I told her but don’t keep things from her, do I? Had a right to know Dru was asking after her. Choice was hers.”

Frowning, she replied, “A Russian vampire criminal gang _is_ my business so here’s a thought: Instead of treating me like someone who needs to be shielded from all of this, and not like the slayer who’s kicked _both your asses_, how about _you_ explain what the _Hell_ is going on?”

“Sounds good to me,” Connor agreed.

* * * *

_You’re not going to believe this_

_Or maybe you will_

_We now know what happens if_

_a killer snot monster attempts to_

_quell an insane immortal_

_It heals her!_

Buffy hit send on the group text to Xander, Willow, and Dawn then flopped back onto the bed Angel had made up for her and Spike in one of the furnished rooms. Or, rather, had asked the housekeeper he’d been paying for years to come in twice a week to make up for them. Thank goodness because sharing a bed with Spike that had been made by Angel would be _too weird_, even for her. She wasn’t really expecting a reply, not from Xander or Willow anyway since they were both in the Western Hemisphere and it was late or early, depending on how you looked at it: almost 2:00 a.m. in California where Xander was hopefully sound asleep with his family 300 miles north of where Buffy lay and 4:00 a.m. in Mexico City where Willow was spending much of her time these days. In the middle of her day in London, Dawn replied almost immediately.

_Oh my God!_

_But sorta makes sense_

_If you think about it_

_How are you doing?_

_How’s Spike?_

_You both ok?_

Buffy smiled and typed out her reply.

_We’re fine _

_I’ll be in touch_

_Love you_

Buffy had just set her phone aside when Spike strode into the room. She blinked up at him and offered,

“Dawn says ‘hi.’”

A single nod in acknowledgement then, “Angel and Connor have gone to collect Dru from some local friendlies been looking after her outside of town.”

“Surprised you didn’t go with.”

“Didn’t feel like leaving you here on your own.”

“Angel really does bring out the Nineteenth Century in you, you know that? Hello, slayer here.”

“Know it but they said they didn’t need me so…” He shrugged then observed, “Thought you might be in the Land of Nod by now.”

Sighing she replied, “Exhausted but not sleepy. Sucks to be me.”

Flopping beside her on the bed, he turned on his side, propped his head on his right elbow then placed his left hand on her belly, where he commenced drawing lazy illustrations.

“Know how to relax you,” he purred with a quirk of the scarred eyebrow, adding with an upward glance, “Christen the place? First shag under Peaches’ roof?”

“Well, when you put it that way, sure. Nothing makes me hotter than being a pawn in a 20-year pissing contest between two old dead guys.”

Shrugging, he went on, “Come to think of it, wouldn’t be _your_ first shag under this roof would it?”

“Charming, thanks for that, because this isn’t already awkward.”

“Well, at least _I _never…” Spike’s eyebrows knit together and he bit his lip. Buffy blinked at him, her face the picture of feigned indifference that he knew better than to defy unless he wanted to go home in a baggie in her suitcase.

“Ok, was _years ago_, and I confess that I am a weak, weak man. Just couldn’t resist those cute little brown shorts.”

“What?”

“Bird what delivered the packages back then. Lovely, she was, and sweet. One day was downstairs on my own when she delivered a package and, well, you could say I repaid her in kind.”

He shrugged. Buffy rolled her eyes then shoved him onto his back.

“Okay, can we _not_ talk?” she retorted then moved on top of him to shut him up the best way she knew how.

* * * *

Something was dragging Buffy into consciousness, making her frown against her cool and comfortable vampire pillow, determined not to open her eyes. She was sure they hadn’t been asleep for long after making love – tender, no frills and sweetly satisfying – because Spike had been right as usual, it had relaxed her. And, she had realized, connecting intimately had soothed him too. His earlier swagger and teasing masking his need to be close to her, to take solace in her embrace. Circumstances were getting to him too.

“What are you doing, pet?” came his sleepy voice and she felt his body tense slightly.

“Hmm… trying to stay asleep,” she murmured in reply.

“Wasn’t talking to you, love.”

“Oh…”

_Wait… what?!?!_

Buffy’s eyes snapped open and she realized what had awaken her. The sense that they weren’t alone. Vampire tingles. Neither Spike nor Angel but _related_.

“Hello, William. It’s been a long time.”

Spike simultaneously pulled the sheet more tightly around them, slowly rose into a semi-reclining position and held Buffy tighter to him. Not quite the death-hold she had on him but close. She felt the mattress sink at the foot of the bed but couldn’t bring herself to turn and look.

_Oh. My. God._

She would jump up and bodily remove Drusilla from the room if she weren’t stark naked. Why, oh why, hadn’t they put on sleepwear after making love? Oh, right, because they were exhausted and also because they craved the solace of one another’s skin.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

“I’ve missed you, my sweet William. Since the clouds lifted, I’ve often wondered where and how you were getting on. Long ago, the pixies told me you had gone and I was so sad but then they told me you were back again and I was so pleased to hear it. I can see that you are well and where you need to be.”

“Uh, Dru, pet, not that I’m not happy to see you and all but this isn’t…”

“Damn it, Connor, I thought you were keeping an eye on her!” an all-too-familiar voice boomed from the hallway, just outside the door.

“Sorry, Dad, I was distracted for just a sec. She’s fast.”

“As opposed to your typical slow, lumbering vampire.” The irritated voice was close now.

_Oh, Hell no!!!_

Buffy hadn’t even had a chance to ponder how the situation could possibly get any worse when it did because Angel was now in the doorway where, despite the darkness, he could see with his enhanced vampire eyeballs the unequivocal implications of the scene in front of him. The scattered clothing, their obvious state of undress. Never mind what he could likely _smell._ Now would be an excellent time for the old hotel’s boiler to explode, she concluded.

“Dru, this is inappropriate,” her sire chided, albeit in a gentle tone similar to the one Spike had taken with her. Buffy noted that both her sire and childe were being careful with her.

“I just wanted to say hello to William, all shiny and new since we parted. It’s inside him now. It glows.”

“I know you’re eager to see him but there will be plenty of time for that later. We need to get you settled in first.”

“As you wish, Angelus.”

“Dru, we talked about this.”

“Angel,” she conceded with a sigh.

The additional weight on the bed lifted and Buffy sensed Drusilla exiting the room. She still hadn’t looked up and wasn’t planning to. She had no intention of making eye contact with either her ex or her lover’s ex under the present circumstances. They had been in L.A. only a few hours and the weekend had already devolved into a bedroom farce. A really weird one.

As he pulled the door closed the senior Aurelian advised, “This door has a lock in fine working order. I strongly recommend that you use it.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Buffy launched herself out of Spike’s arms and off the bed, taking the sheet with her as she stumbled towards to the door to do just that. Once she had engaged the lock then tested it, four times, she pressed her forehead to the door and groaned.

“Well, bollocks.”

“I second that,” she muttered into oak or maybe it was walnut.

“Dru looks… well.”

Buffy sighed then turned around to face him, responding, “Points to Dru. Think we’ll manage to spare _anyone_ we know the joy of walking in on us naked?”

“Way we get on? Unlikely,” her naked vampire lover replied earnestly to the question she had intended to be rhetorical.

She blinked at him then dissolved into a fit of giggles. He smiled.

“Get your sweet arse over here, Summers,” Spike commanded, reaching for her. She climbed back onto the bed, covering them both with the sheet as he pulled her into his arms.

“She really _is_ better, isn’t she? Despite the total lack of boundaries,” Buffy observed with a roll of her eyes.

“Should know by now, Slayer, when you’re talking vampires, least of the garden variety, boundaries don’t really come into it. But yeah.” His tone had turned pensive.

“Not an ideal start to the reunion. You alright?” Buffy inquired, nuzzling.

“Yeah, just… first Angelus gets a soul then me. Darla came back only to off herself to bring Connor into the world. Can’t help but think how abandoned Dru must have felt when she got better. Whole sodding world, everything she had known, had changed. Left her behind.”

“She kicked you to the curb, remember? Twice.”

“Both know that was merely a formality. Was already gone. Made that point well enough, didn’t I? Alienating her, humiliating myself and thoroughly brassing you in the bargain… God, what a pillock.”

“Hey,” she protested, jabbing him gently in the ribs. “I thought we agreed when I finished the memoir that we were going to do our best not to let the past haunt our present.”

_You mean, like you were doing on the flight out here? Hypocrite._

“Yeah but easier said than done when the past literally walks through the door.”

Buffy frowned, silently acknowledging that he had a point. There really wasn’t anything to say in response so she didn’t bother. Instead she held him close and painted soothing words on his skin with her fingertips until he sighed contentedly, rolled them over and moved on top of her. Opening her up again he sought the temporary refuge she could give him. Whispering his name against his skin as she cradled him, she rocked him slowly and tenderly inside of her.

**TBC**


	7. Conversations with (un)dead people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is, obviously, a play on the S7 episode title. You'll recognize dialogue from "Becoming" Pt. 2.

Buffy blinked at the striking vampire sitting across from her, careful not to hold her gaze for too long while also not taking her eyes off of her. After shooing away two ensouled vampires no doubt terrified of what the one sitting across from her might say about them, they had each taken a seat facing one another in the straight-back chairs Connor had set out for them in the spacious lobby of the Hyperion. Safer that way. Plenty of room to defend herself in case it all went pear-shaped. She had a stake on her. More than one, actually. Whatever the awkward baggage between them, no one could accuse her of underestimating Drusilla. She was a survivor for the same reason that Buffy was. She was lethal, a most adept killer. The vampire was the first to pierce the silence.

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I hope you won’t be offended if I don’t take your word for it.”

“It’s been a long time, Slayer.”

“Buffy. There’s more than one now.”

“Was more than one then.”

“Yeah, until you killed the other one.”

“Did that for Angelus, didn’t I? Was all mixed up then. Anyway, got your own back, didn’t you?”

“How do you figure?”

“You know how.”

A beat then, “If you’re talking about Spike…”

“You _know_ I’m talking about Spike.” Drusilla sighed as if mildly irritated by Buffy’s obtuseness.

Buffy rolled her eyes then challenged, “I seem to recall that his reason for making a deal with the enemy was _you_.”

“He could fool you, he could fool Angelus, he could even fool himself for a time, but my William could never fool me.”

“Your point?”

Which had come out testier than she’d intended but she couldn’t help but bristle a little at hearing words she’d spoken to Angel a lifetime ago echoed back to her. Drusilla smiled then and it was both chilling and beguiling. What a gorgeous couple she and Spike must have made in their heyday. Beautiful monsters with the whole world, and all its earthly delights, at their disposal. Such an idea would have appalled Buffy in her younger days, back when she had known them as a couple. Now, not so much. Years, experience and loss had bled the stark black and white of her youth into the gray of adulthood.

Whatever else Spike and Drusilla had been, there had been over a century of devotion and care between them. It may have been dark, it may have been twisted, but it had been real. On some level Buffy had known that from the beginning, had used it to save her own life by threatening Drusilla’s, had taken in then neatly tucked away the desperate look in Spike’s eyes as she’d held a stake to his sire’s heart. The old Council had known shit about vampires, and hadn’t that made her job – to say nothing of her life – even harder than it had to be. But then, they hadn’t known a thing about slayers either, not about what really matters to a young woman bearing the weight of the world (often literally) on her shoulders. Nor had they cared to. Assholes.

“We have a lot in common, you and I.”

Buffy couldn’t argue that point even if she really, really wanted to. They _did_ have a lot in common in a rather tacky, soap opera (or a less charitable person might say Jerry Springer) sort of way: intimate knowledge of the two undead guys currently holed up with Connor in Angel’s office – no doubt straining their enhanced vampire eardrums trying to eavesdrop. Or sniping at one another like an old married couple. Probably both.

“Convince me,” she challenged nevertheless, setting her jaw and folding her arms.

“We were each in our turn remade by Angelus and we each in our turn remade William.”

Buffy’s eyebrows shot up. She did not see that coming. Not the first part anyway.

“Angelus? I know he sired you and I know he subjected you to horrible things that nobody should have to endure but, as for me, he didn’t…”

“Break you. He subjected you to horrors too. I remember all too well. I helped him. But if love couldn’t break you then nothing would. By trying to break you he made you unbreakable.”

“Hardly,” Buffy scoffed.

Ignoring her objection, Drusilla pressed on, “My William, our Spike, couldn’t help himself. He had been so good to me, so true, for so long. All those years looking after me, Angelus’s broken toy, but I could give him so little in return so much of the time. There you were, the sunshine, the light that Angelus could not snuff out. And he was lost to me. Yours to make shiny and new.”

“Pretty sure I gave less, _a lot less_, than you did in the beginning.”

_And for years and years afterwards._

“Perhaps, but he was always gallant in the face of a challenge.”

_Well, that’s one way to put it._

Buffy emitted a wry chuckle then considered Drusilla’s words, briefly transported to a moment from one of the darkest periods of her life. When she was young. So young.

_“I hate you.”_

_“And I’m all you’ve got.”_

“You’re looking at it now. At the two of you. Already moving towards you, towards the girl who did not break. Hurt me to see it, even if he never truly believed that he mattered enough to hurt me. That’s why I had to send him away.”

Buffy shook off the memory with an unpleasant chill creeping down her spine at the realization that Drusilla could read her so well then asserted with a shrug intended to convey a nonchalance she did not feel, “That’s really not my business. If you owe anyone _that_ explanation, it’s Spike.”

“If you say so,” Drusilla responded amiably. Silence reigned again and this time it was Buffy’s turn to break it.

“I won’t take credit for who Spike is now. For a lot of the time since the last time we… I saw you…”

_And, ho boy, what a mighty fiasco of a shit show evening that was. _

“We weren’t even… I watched him burn and it was over a year before I had any idea he was back. Sunnydale was gone, I was overseas and he was here in L.A. then off on his own doing whatever, wherever with whoever. Ok, so maybe I was _the reason_ he started on the journey to become who he is but I’m not convinced it was just me. Part of it may have been the chip that made it possible for him to be among the living without, you know, _eating_ them. I think, beneath all the posturing and snark, he liked that. He was yearning for his… his humanity. He once told me that it mattered that I treated him like a man.”

“Spike is both conscientious and proficient in his manly duties.”

“Not _that_ way. That came… later.”

_Although she’s not wrong_.

“He meant that I didn’t treat him like a _thing…_ well, most of the time I did back then but _sometimes_ I _didn’t_,” Buffy continued, realizing that she had fallen into something approximating an intimate conversation with Drusilla. A conversation that might pass between _friends_. Wasn’t that odd? Or maybe not. Hadn’t it been that way with Spike, virtually from the start?

“Maybe it was all about me, or partly about me, whatever, but _he_ made the choices that made him who he is today. And he’s changed me too. He’s taught me how to live. How to actually enjoy life. Or maybe he just reminded me how. I think I used to know, before I was called, but I lost the knack along the way with everything that happened.”

“I took his life and yet he lives and loves well, does William,” Drusilla observed with a wistful sigh.

“Yes, he does,” Buffy concurred, adding, “So, I suppose I owe you a totally awkward, morally ambiguous debt of gratitude. In that spirit…”

“Now is when you insist that I exist in the world against my own nature.”

“Well, yeah, slayer here. Literally my job. I know you were dealt a really shitty hand, that Spike loved you for over a century, that part of him always will, and that Angel feels responsible because, well, _he is_. Or was. Well, Angelus anyway...”

She shrugged and went on, “But none of that changes the fact that I cannot let you continue to cut a swath through the human population. You’re going to have to find another way to be, which I know is asking _a lot_ without a soul. But there are others who manage.”

“That ridiculous creature from Spike’s crypt?” Drusilla clucked her tongue in disgust.

“For one, yes,” Buffy responded with a smirk.

“Angel has already spoken to me about this,” the vampire stated resignedly, continuing, “He has promised to help me.”

_Pretty much a least he could do thing._

“And I’m sure Spike will do everything he can to help too. In the meantime, we have the Russian vampire mafia bearing down on us any day now and the more light you can shed on _that_ situation the better.”

Drusilla was quiet for a time, a faraway look in her eyes, the weight of almost a decade of sanity evident despite the agelessness of her elegant features. Buffy remembered seeing the news reports, vaguely recalled (mostly that Andrew had gone on and on about it for days) the abundance of amateur video captured in the age of dash cams and smart phones, much of which she had watched on YouTube after Angel had filled them in on how his childe had come to be sane eight years earlier and ended up on the lam with an old, powerful Russian vampire in hot pursuit. Of course, she’d had no idea at the time, in early 2013, that a meteor entering Earth’s atmosphere over Chelyabinsk, Russia would have any future relevance to her life. That a passenger on that meteor would encounter Drusilla in a wooded area on the outskirts of a town in the Southern Ural Mountains and heal her fractured mind.

“Madness fleeing creates a madness of its own. Everything around me was suddenly so bright and so loud, it overwhelmed me. Couldn’t hunt, could barely defend myself from the living and was totally defenseless against anything stronger. All I could do then was run and hide. I was so afraid to stop moving that I’d sometimes forget to seek cover before sunrise. Many close calls. Karol took me in when I was in rags and starving. He was kind to me then, helped me put myself together, but as the years passed I grew weary of being the bird in his gilded cage. I could no longer abide being the shiny thing to parade in front of his crude, filthy friends. To do tricks like his trained doggie.”

“Sing it, sister.”

“He will be here soon with those who serve him. He will want to kill you all and take me back to punish for my ingratitude and disloyalty.”

“Well, that’s not happening.”

“No, it is not.”

“Is that your _expert_ opinion?” Buffy inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, it is,” Drusilla replied then added with a wry smile, “This isn’t the fight we were made for.”

“Say what now?”

“Something big… is already here but unready. That is for later. Now is for happy families.”

_Okay… a little less with the sense-making._

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any more on that, like who, what, when, where, how?”

“She’s psychic not Walter-Bloody-Cronkite.”

Buffy looked up to see Spike standing in the doorway of Angel’s office, tension rolling off him in waves, his curiosity and/or anxiety having obviously gotten the best of him. Not that he was the only one; she could see Angel looming behind him, every bit as twitchy. Rolling her eyes, Buffy rose from her seat and stated,

“Looks like girl talk is over for today.”

* * * *

Buffy sat alone on a wooden bench in the courtyard of the Hyperion, soaking up the last moments of light as dusk descended and sipping the coffee Angel had made her as a peace offering when she’d finally lost it at his and Spike’s incessant bickering. When Drusilla had asked, legitimately perplexed, why the testosterone twins kept discussing her as though she weren’t in the room, Buffy had assured her that it was nothing personal; it was simply a thing that they did. A totally obnoxious, deeply annoying thing.

Drusilla had considered her words then shrugged and wandered off. Connor had grabbed a volume off of a shelf in his father’s office and done the same. Then Buffy had lit into both. Spike had responded by pouting and Angel had broodingly made her coffee, which was as close to an apology as she knew she would ever get from him. But she had to hand it to him, he sure knew how to make a mighty fine cup of joe.

The courtyard lights were on a timer and had just come on when the pouty one approached from behind and proceeded to do something he had occasionally done to ingratiate himself since the first time he’d bitten her, and survived, when they’d spent her 30th birthday together in Paris. Spike grasped the back of the bench on either side of her then leaned forward to take the meaty part of her shoulder bared by her tank top between his teeth, fangs partially descended the way he used to wear them all the time back in his fang-ier, evil undead days. He just held her there, not breaking the skin, sort of like a mother cat holding a kitten by the nape of its neck. It was a move that conveyed _you know who and what I am and still find me irresistible, yeah? _It was not the _worst_ move, she had to admit, equal parts naughty and sweet. Essentially Spike. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and remarked,

“Practicing bravery before the baddies get here, are we?”

Letting go with a playful kiss to the previously held spot, he stood and shrugged then vaulted over the back of the bench to take a seat beside her and replied, “Seeing as I was being an asshole, come to take my lumps.”

“You and Angel, I swear. I was half expecting you to start peeing on the furniture to mark your territory.”

A wistful look fluttered across his face, her words obviously calling forth a memory she did not share, then,

“Bringing out the worst in each other in a way we haven’t in… guess it’s Dru being here, what she represents.”

“A walking, talking reminder of your long, complicated history?”

“One of two, yeah, but the history with Dru is…”

“Longer. A lot. And darker. I… imagine.”

“Vampires, Buffy.”

She blinked at him. Outside of their most intimate moments he used her name so sparingly, even now, that she knew the situation was taking a toll on him, forcing him to confront what he had been and everything he had done in the dozen or so decades between encountering Drusilla in one alley and her in another. Taking her hand in his he ran his thumb across her knuckles and offered,

“Know this weekend’s about as much fun as having a bone set but I am glad you’re here, love. Thank you, and sorry I’m being such a tosser.”

“We’re a team, Spike. Even when you’re being a tosser.”

She leaned in to kiss his cheek. He smiled. She took another sip of coffee and hummed contentedly.

“You like his coffee better than mine.”

“It’s like stupidly good.”

“I’m better at cunnilingus.”

Buffy paused, blinking heavenwards before taking another sip, but neither confirmed nor denied his assertion. While she had little to go on as a basis for comparison – limited to one spell-induced, also-probably-early-midlife-crisis night she’d spent with Angel because, lord knows, she’d have been too nervous and too self-conscious to let him when she was a lovesick 17-year-old even if he’d been inclined (he hadn’t) – Spike’s self-assessment of his abundant talent in that area was accurate. Although, to be fair, he had a lot more recent and regular practice in general and on her in particular. She wasn’t about to concede that point under Angel’s roof, however, particularly when she was pretty sure she consistently provided all the validation Spike needed during the act itself.

Drusilla entered the courtyard with Angel hot on her heels, stopping at the far end. Spike was on his feet immediately and sauntered over to them. Feeling neither the need nor the inclination to join them, Buffy remained seated and studied the three absurdly attractive vampires linked by blood as they stood close to and spoke quietly with one another.

“Quite the odd little family, isn’t it?”

Buffy looked up to find Connor standing beside her. She smiled then shrugged.

“I think all families are odd in one way or another.”

“Mind if I join you?  
  


“Please,” she gestured to the spot beside her that Spike had just vacated.

“You’re taking this weekend’s unique brand of weird extremely well.”  
  


“Weird has been in my wheelhouse since before you were born… and I can’t believe I just played the ‘before you were born’ card. God, I’m old. But, hey, no one ever expected me to be, least of all me, so yay me!” Buffy raised her coffee mug in salute.

“C’mon, you’re not _that_ old. You’re actually not much older than me even though I should just be turning 20 this year because weird has been in my wheelhouse since the day I was born. Before actually, with the whole vampire pregnancy thing.”

“Have you had a chance to speak with Drusilla about your mother?”

“A bit, but it hasn’t been easy with Dad lurking.”

“He is an expert lurker.”

“I guess that’s just his way of showing he cares. He isn’t always so good with the more standard ways.”

“No… really?” Buffy joked.

“It’s funny, I have a hard time picturing… the two of you… back then.”

“Sometimes I do too but, hey, at least Sunnydale’s low-budget production of Romeo and Juliet had a happier ending than the original. Just realized they weren’t really meant to be after all… eventually. Well, Juliet sent Romeo to Hell first but it spit him back out again,” she remarked cheekily.

“You and Spike, though, you’re solid.”

“Yeah, we are, but it was a long time coming.”

“You’re telling me. I was there for some of the pining and, to hear Dad tell it, there was _a lot_ of pining.”

“Except when there was an Amazon delivery, apparently,” Buffy muttered into her coffee cup.

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“You know, for all their bickering, they have each other’s backs.”

“Yeah, I know.” She did know but that didn’t stop her from wanting to knock their heads together. Repeatedly. To unconsciousness.

“Spike’s like a fun uncle to me. Sometimes he’s the only one who can get Dad to see sense, probably because he’s the only one I’ve ever seen make Dad look totally ridiculous. They just… I don’t know…”

“Get each other. They’ve known each other forever and understand each other in a way that no one else possibly could.”  
  


“Yeah, I guess so, even if they _are_ exhausting sometimes. You know who I really admire?” Connor offered. “The 100% totally normal human beings who were raised without any of this and manage to take it all in without losing their minds.”

“True that. My dear friend, Xander Harris, was the prototype. And, of course, Danny. And Farah. You picked a winner there.”

“Don’t I know it. She’s like 10 times tougher than me. She’s… we’re expecting again. The baby’s due in December.”

“Connor, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!”

“Thanks, I haven’t even told Dad yet. Figured it could wait until this… resolves.”

“Uh, Connor,” Buffy warned, having noticed all three vampires now facing away from one another, game faces all around and hyper-alert. It was a look she knew well. Vampires squaring off, itching for a fight.

“I have a feeling the wait is over,” she added as she set her mug aside and slowly rose from the bench.

“I have a feeling you’re right,” he agreed and was up on his feet beside her just as a vampire built like a semi came crashing through the French doors leading into the courtyard and several more dropped down from the roof.

And thus, ended her coffee break.

**TBC**


	8. Don't look too far, right where you are, that's where I am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references Lana Del Rey's recently (August 2019) released LP "Norman F**king Rockwell." The title of this chapter is lifted from the second track, "Mariners Apartment Complex," while the chapter contains lyrics from the tracks "F**k It, I Love You" and "Love Song" as well as the closing track, "Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have - but I Have It."

**Early June 2021**

**San Luis Obispo, CA**

“To put it plainly,” Buffy began then took a sip from her cocktail and continued, “a killer snot monster from outer space.”

“A killer _what_ from _where_?!?” El yelped, nearly choking on her own adult beverage.

“Queller demon. Read about them, haven’t seen one. Yet,” Jo interjected.

“I did years ago when my mother was in the hospital. Minor incident in the scheme of things that year what with a hellbitch trying to kill my sister, losing my mother and, ya know, my own temporary demise.”

“Nasty piece of work from what I’ve read,” Becca commented.

“Fatal to humans. Curative to other demons, apparently, although we didn’t know that until Drusilla. And let’s not forget gross. So gross. They’ll hitch a ride to Earth on a meteor so the theory is that this one, along with a few others, rode in on the big meteor that hit Russia in early 2013 since that was the year she was cured.”

“What the hell was Drusilla doing in Russia?” Becca wondered aloud.

“Who knows, I didn’t think to ask but I assume nothing good. Spike hadn’t seen her in years, had no idea what she was up to, where, or who with. When she’d come up in conversation, which wasn’t often, all he’d say is that he knew she was out there somewhere because he was sure he’d be able to feel it if she dusted. And, well, turns out she was in Russia for whatever reason and, after being trapped in her own mind for so long, the sudden sensory overload was almost too much. Enter Karol the Russian vampire gangster. Took her in, took care of her, and treated her like his property for years until she got fed up and took off."

“Gotta say, took guts for her to leave,” Jo remarked.

“Yeah, she knew he wouldn’t take it well and he did not. She was on the run and managed to stay a step ahead of him for over a year until she was able to get a coded message to Angel a couple months ago, right before we saw him in London. Took a while for him and Spike to get to the bottom of what was going on while I was on my Council tour. Drusilla was finally able to get to a place where Angel could meet up with her and bring her back to L.A. We were in Cleveland when we got word. They knew they had to make a stand or she’d never be free. So, make a stand we did.”

“That sounds harrowing,” El remarked with a shudder.

“Ish,” Buffy responded eliciting smirks from Becca and Jo then went on,

“We all got through it with the usual cuts and bruises, minor fracture here or there. Was a bit surreal to see Angel, Spike and Drusilla all on the same side while _not_ trying to kill _me_. And Connor was impressive. I mean, I knew that he was strong and grew up fighting for his life in a hell dimension but he’s really something. They barely needed me.” She shrugged and took another sip of her drink.

“When is the Big Bad due home, anyway?” Becca asked.

“In a few days, probably; no more than a week. We escaped without serious damage but the same cannot be said of the hotel. There was property damage. Like _a lot. _Spike is helping assemble the type of crew that won’t ask questions to do the repairs. Connor is staying on through the end of this month since he won’t be traveling the rest of the year with the baby coming. He didn’t say so but I also think Spike wanted to help Drusilla get settled into a sort of demon halfway house situation they’ve arranged out of town. Somewhere she’ll be safe since a powerful vampire psychic who now makes sense most of the time is a valuable commodity to all manner of unsavory characters."

“Not staying on with her sire?” Jo inquired.

“Staying long-term with Angel was a nonstarter,” Buffy replied with a shrug. “All three undead people seemed to agree wholeheartedly on that point. They didn’t ask my opinion, which worked out fine since I didn’t feel entitled to one. In my experience, Aurelian family dynamics are complicated.”

“Are _you_ okay, Buffy? I mean, the whole situation is just…” El gave up trying to find the appropriate adjective and just smiled sympathetically.

“Like something out of a ridiculous supernatural soap opera? Wasn’t the best weekend of my life but it wasn’t the worst either. Not even close. Could have done without the truck-size vampires babbling on in a language I don’t understand while also trying to murder me but nothing new there. Aside from that, though, wasn’t terrible having a chance to have a real conversation with someone who knows Spike so well. Besides, it’s kind of fun watching Drusilla enter her feminist stage at, like, 200.”

“Better late than never,” Jo declared raising her glass.

“Hear, hear!” El seconded.

“Ooh, fun song! Ladies, shall we?” Becca proposed upon hearing the opening bass line of a song from a few years back, a Jonas Brother Buffy thought but was not certain in yet another sign that she was getting old.

Jo rolled her eyes as Becca dragged her out of their booth with one hand while using the other to grab the elder stateswoman of slayers who, in turn, grasped El by the hand. If she was going to show these whippersnappers a thing or two then she wasn’t going to do it alone; Class of ’99 _would represent_.

As the four women danced and goofed off and laughed, Buffy was sure she had an idiotic grin plastered on her face but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t much, really, just an evening out eating, drinking, dancing, talking and laughing with women she had come to love. But it was also everything, really. Life could go completely to shit in an instant; you had to savor these moments when they came along.

It was almost as if the Powers That Be had read her thoughts because she suddenly felt an all-too-familiar tingle on the back of her neck. Meeting Jo’s knowing eyes she confirmed that it wasn’t her imagination. She stood still for a moment to concentrate then rolled her eyes dramatically. Jo replied with an eyeroll of her own then whispered something to Becca, who smirked but kept dancing.

“I’ll be right back!” Buffy yelled over the music to El then spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of black leather before the door to a service exit slammed shut.

* * * *

“Hey there, Big Bad, didn’t anyone ever teach you to _avoid_ a roomful of slayers on their night off?” Buffy quipped as she slowly approached the vampire leaning against the building in the alley behind the club.

He shrugged and replied, “Guess I’ve never been very bright.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Come to check out the Slayer. Word in these parts she’s hot shit.”

“I think the kids today prefer the term ‘banging,’” Buffy shot back while inspecting her manicure with a look of supreme boredom.

“A rose by any other name is still shaggable.”

Meeting his dancing eyes, she fluttered her eyelashes and teased, “You, a vampire, _shags_ slayers? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“I shag _a_ slayer. One. I shag _The_ _Slayer_. And what can I tell you, baby, I’ve always been a rebel.”

“Have you now? Well then, rebel, now that you’ve lured me out here, what do you have in mind?”

Buffy was now just two steps away from Spike. He pushed himself off the wall and stood toe to toe with her then replied, “What do _you_ have in mind, Slayer?”

Leaning in she drawled, “Seeing as I’m off duty and all, I think I’ll just go back inside and continue my evening.”

She had taken a step back and turned halfway around before she felt his hand on her wrist. In an instant he’d spun her around and crushed her to him, engaging her in a deep, toe-curling kiss. One hand in her hair, he used the other to knead the bare flesh exposed by the backless blouse she’d paired with jeans and boots for the night out.

“Any idea how bloody sexy you are when you’re dancing, when you let go and lose yourself in the moment?” he murmured against her skin as he kissed his way up her jawline then pressed his forehead to hers and continued, “Were the first time I laid eyes on you. More, much more, now.”

Smiling she observed, “I take it your work in L.A. is done.”

“Looks like. Sorry to crash your ladies’ evening, love. Knew you’d be out tonight and had a notion that I’d get to see you dance. Couldn’t resist.”

At the sound of a throat pointedly clearing behind her, Buffy turned halfway around in Spike’s arms to find Jo standing at the end of the alley with her arms crossed at her chest.

“Will you _both_ be joining us or are you channeling your inner Victorian and dragging your wayward woman home?”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at Spike who grinned impishly and replied, “Like I’d survive to tell the tale if I tried. Wouldn’t say no to a night out with four lovely ladies if you’ll have me. It’ll be like having a harem. Always fancied one.”

“El is married and Becca and I aren’t exactly harem material since we’re sort of _together_ now. You know that, right?”

Buffy did a double take. _She _didn’t know that. Damn, she’d been away from home for too long. However, the twitch of her vampire’s lips told her that _he_ did. Of course, _he_ did. Probably before _they_ did. He was about to speak when she warned, “Whatever wildly inappropriate thing you are about to say, don’t. I have a stake in my boot.”

“So do I,” Jo added before turning to head back inside.

He mimicked locking his lips and throwing away the key, unadulterated sin dancing in his eyes. He was so sexy that it really wasn’t fair. He knew it too, the bastard.

“C’mon you,” Buffy grunted as she moved out of Spike’s embrace then tugged him behind her and out of the alley.

* * * *

Buffy sighed approvingly as she closed the door behind her then tossed her keys and running pack on the small table in the foyer and toed off her sneakers. After an early run on the beach and casual brunch with Becca and Jo, she was looking forward to a quiet Sunday at home. No crises, no family dramas, no distractions. Just Spike. It was a long time coming.

She found him asleep on the couch with a book open on his chest. Black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, barefoot, hair a mess of unruly curls. Adorable. She doubted she’d ever really get used to how absurdly innocent he looked while sleeping, reminding her of a marble sculpture of an angel she’d seen years ago in a museum in Europe. Only thing missing was a pair of wings, which would look pretty wonderful on him actually. She smiled then padded to the docking station, switched her phone to do-not-disturb, placed it on the dock and hit play. Any apocalypse that popped up today would have to carry on without her.

A female voice softly filled the room as she sank down onto her back on the rug in front of the sofa and stretched languorously then looked up at the narrow windows Spike had installed at the very top of the wall just under the ceiling as an anniversary surprise while she was away on the Council tour. He’d engaged a demon contracting firm, a cousin of Clem’s, to do the work. The windows, which he had designed himself in consultation with the contractor, were positioned in such a way as to cast natural light into the room without casting any UV rays into habitable areas. The result was that they could spend time together in a room illuminated naturally, which worked out quite well for her because for an undead creature of the night, Spike looked pretty damn fine in indirect sunlight.

_Mr. and Mrs. Big Pile of Dust_

Buffy grinned then propped herself up on her elbows to resume basking in the sight of her sleeping vampire but the slight curl of his lips betrayed that he was no longer asleep.

“Faker,” she teased. His smirk unfurled into a smile, he raised his head and opened one eye at her.

“Evil vampire, remember?”

Sitting upright she glared playfully at him then unceremoniously pulled off her tank top and tossed it at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. Setting his book aside he picked up the garment then quirked his scarred eyebrow at her and remarked,

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, then.”

“Looks like,” she replied with a shrug.

Their eyes remained locked for a beat then Spike was on the floor with her, hauling her on top of him, capturing her lips and kissing her hungrily as his hands roamed the skin of her bare torso, snaking up under her sports bra.

“This goes,” he growled as he eased the fabric up and over her head, tossed it aside then eased her into a seated position astride him.

“And good day to you too, Miss Summers,” he crooned with William’s accent and a sweet smile as he toyed with her breasts. It was absurdly sexy.

“Seriously?” she panted then chuckled and they both moaned at the vibration of her laughter where her still-clothed lower-half met his.

Buffy commenced a rocking motion with a wicked gleam in her eye. Spike dug his fingers into her hips and narrowed his eyes at her. The female voice filling the room appropriately sang,

_And if I wasn’t so fucked up I think I’d fuck you all the time_

She quirked an eyebrow at him. He raised his eyebrows in reply. That wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever heard. While literally all the time wasn’t practical and would no doubt alienate everyone in their lives, some of whom had already gotten an involuntary peek at the live show, locking the world out for the next 12 to 24 hours and spending most of that time fucking the living daylights out of one another sounded like a pretty stellar idea to her. With the occasional break for sustenance, of course. Fortunately, they had provisions. There would be absolutely no reason to leave the house or even put on a stitch of clothing. As she hauled Spike up to divest him of his t-shirt, Buffy concluded that Dawn had been spot on when she'd suggested this particular life hack.

_No screen Sundays REALLY are the BEST!_

* * * *

“Enough,” she gasped. “I can’t… a… again.”

“You can,” he purred into her ear.

And damn if he wasn’t right. Because she did. Explosively.

Buffy laughed haltingly as he moved off of her body and flopped down beside her. His chest heaving in time to hers, he wore a resolutely shit-eating grin on his face.

“Proud of ourselves, are we?” she asked as soon as she was capable of stringing that many words together.

“Proud of you, pet. Knew you had it in you,” he replied.

A while back Spike had picked up a factoid that intrigued him: 70 percent of women were capable of having multiple orgasms, with 2 percent capable of having up to 20 orgasms, in a single session of lovemaking. If these statistics were true of the general population then who knew what a slayer, what _The Slayer_, would be capable of. Or so went his logic. He had been keen to prove his theory but between family obligations, her Council tour and a Russian vampire gang hellbent on vengeance, this had been the first opportunity to fully test it in ideal conditions: together, well-rested, home, truly alone, no one within earshot.

The female voice was still softly filling the room, the album having replayed so many times she’d lost count. Not that Buffy minded. She loved it. She recalled when, at the end of her first summer living with Spike, she had filled in for Becca on a job and road tripped up to Carmel with Jo. It had been on that drive that the two women had really started to bond and Buffy had even managed to summon the nerve to bring up Peru and to thank Jo for being there for Spike on some of his darkest days. It was also on that drive that Jo had introduced her to the then brand-new release, saying that the lyrics evoked to her Buffy and Spike and their long journey towards each other, which is why she had been looking forward to playing it for Buffy.

_You know that I’d just die to make you proud_

Yeah, he did that.

_I believe that you see me for who I am_

Pretty much from the moment he set eyes on her, she figured.

_Is it safe, is it safe to just be who we are?_

Some days that would be a definite no but those days were fewer and farther between than they had once been. Sure, there was Drusilla’s warning about something big to come but she had also made it clear that would be at some as yet undetermined point in the future. For now, Buffy planned to focus on the _happy families_ part; no point in losing sleep over _something_ that _might_ happen _someday_.

She curled into Spike’s body and offered, “You know what Drusilla said to me in L.A.?”

“Ah, so we’re finally willing to spill our guts about that little tête-à-tête, are we?”

She rolled her eyes then continued, “She said that the reason you fell in love with me was that Angelus didn’t break me. That after years of caring for someone he had broken, you were drawn to me because he failed with me.”

Spike considered her words then shrugged and replied, “To be clear, wanted to shag you from the first I set eyes on you. Think that’s why I was so impatient to kill you. Because I yearned for the life inside of you and not in the usual way because it was too gorgeous to snuff out. Deep down probably knew I was buggered. Wouldn’t have then, though, even if I could’ve gotten near enough without ending up a pile of dust, because I _was_ devoted to Dru. But I suppose she’s right. Watched Angelus run a routine on you that I’d seen him run countless times before but you were unbowed. You were magnificent. The defiance in your eyes when I came to you that first time to offer a truce. If I had to trace it to a specific moment in time then yeah, I suppose that was it.”

“I can’t believe that I’m actually saying this… I mean, she killed Kendra. But I’m sorry for her,” Buffy confessed.

“You’re not responsible for anything that happened to her, love. And we both know you spared her more than once, which she didn’t deserve any more than I did in those days. But she’s still here and Angel and I will do whatever is necessary to keep her safe so long as she holds up her end of the bargain. The rest is up to her but I think she’ll be alright. She’s gotten on without me for over 20 years now. As for me falling like a ton of bricks for you, you couldn’t exactly help that either. Pretty sure you would have if you could back then. Can’t help being the magnificent creature you are.”

At the sound of Buffy’s stomach growling Spike smiled and added, “Magnificent hungry creature. Fancy a naked indoor picnic?”

“Do I have to move?”

“No, you get to stay right here and your utterly besotted vampire slave will bring it to you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she murmured with a smile.

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead then untangled his limbs from hers and stood up to head to the kitchen. She stretched, testing pleasingly sore muscles then sighed contentedly.

“Spike,” Buffy called after him as he was leaving the room.

He turned back to her and responded, “Yeah, love?”

“Thank you for the last two years. For making me happy. I love you.”

His answering smile was breathtaking.

“Don’t you move. Gonna feed you then I’m gonna shag you again because, mark my word, we have not even begun to shag.”

Buffy smiled, her eyes slipping closed as she contemplated the fact that she was alive and loved and was loved in return. Today all was right with the world – her little corner of it anyway, her family, her friends, her lover and life partner. She dared to hope that it would be tomorrow too and damn if Jo hadn’t hit the nail on the head about the lyrics on this album because just then the soft female voice intoned,

_Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have_

_But I have it_

_Yeah, I have it_

**FIN**


End file.
